Nobody's Child
by enahma
Summary: Harry’s younger son, Seren, runs off after a family quarrel. His leaving reveals past matters, and not only memories, but something much more frightening. PreHBP and so AU. Re-betaed by LydiaCarol - and I promise I won't abandon it this time.
1. Harry

My dearest readers,

Here is my newest monstrosity of a story, actually written in Hungarian and translated all by myself. I hope thereby that its English will be a tad better than those of my other ones written directly in English.

The story will be 13 chapters long, longer than Fool, but shorter than Happy Days in Hell: my favourite length somewhere between 30 and 50 thousand words.

**Summary**: Harry's younger son runs off after a family quarrel, shattering the once-so-solid peace of the Potter family, envied by the whole magical society.

**Warning**: In this story Harry isn't a boy by any means. Quite the contrary.

**Genre**: drama/angst

**Rating**: PG

**Non-slash pairing**: Harry and Snape (yes, yes, Snape, you read it well) and many others

**Warning**: post-OoTP, no facts of books 6 or 7 mentioned

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything except the plot.

**Beta**: LydiaCarol

* * *

**Nobody's Child**

Oh! Why does the wind blow upon me so wild?

– Is it because I'm nobody's child?

_P.H. Case, Nobody's Child_

* * *

**Chapter One – Harry**

"You lied to me! You lied to me all this time! I hate you all!"

Harry flinched at the resounding sound of the slamming door as if he had been slapped. He was unable to speak, staring at the forbiddingly shut door behind which the sound of exiting footfalls had already died away moments earlier – though those moments seemed like hours, days, years in the complete silence unbroken by anything except the small, incessant clinking sounds of several delicate silver instruments inherited from Dumbledore himself.

None of them moved, and Harry was sure somewhere deep inside (though unable to _really_ think) that even they – his wife and his older son – were staring at the closed door with as much pain and shock as he was.

His wife began to cry. She didn't cry aloud, only her ragged breathing showing that she was losing a fight against her tears, and he heard Barrys's low voice whispering, a little hoarse:

"He'll come round, you'll see, Mum, everything'll be all right. Seren will calm down and apologise soon…"

But the words didn't bring reassurance.

"But why? Why?"

Now, Harry could hear perfectly the crying in his wife's words, and Barrys muttered something he couldn't make out.

It wasn't really important. Their son wasn't any wiser than them.

He knew he should be at his wife's side comforting her, but he was unable to move: the pain and the shock were still paralysing him. In reality, he wanted to cry as well, but he didn't want Barrys to see him crying: if he shed tears over Seren's stormy leaving, they would both think that the previous drama was as serious as they tought. Though it wasn't.

Hopefully.

Still, Seren had been seventeen in June, so he had stormed out as an adult after a half-hour long, horrible quarrel. He wasn't to be stopped, and knowing him, Harry wasn't sure he would return soon. Seren was hard to hurt, but if someone managed to it, his anger lasted long and he rarely forgot – if at all. In this, he was the complete opposite of his brother, Barrys, who was easy to infuriate but just as easily got past the real or imagined hurts.

Finally, collecting every shred of his willpower, Harry turned around to leave the hall, but on his way to his study he stopped next to his wife and touched her shoulders encouragingly. Their eyes locked for a short moment and both sighed. They didn't need words to understand each other: they had been married for almost twenty years. Harry turned his attention to Barrys.

"Dad?" he asked uncertainly, and in his chocolate brown eyes, so like his mother's, Harry could see a pain matching his own.

"It'll turn around," he said, but his words didn't hold encouragement even for him. He cleared his throat. "Seren will need a little time, but he will regret what he said."

"But…" Barrys was uttering the words with obvious pain, "if that's true, what he said, he has good reason to be mad…"

"Good reason?" Harry asked, half-surprised, half-enraged, and massaged his forehead tiredly. "I didn't know love is a good reason to be furious and say foul words to your family."

"It's not that," Barry said embarrassed. "But you should have told him before…"

"Before? Before what?" Harry asked angrily.

"Harry!" He heard his wife's calming voice and he released the breath he'd held.

"I know, I know," he said retreating, and looked at Barrys again. "We just wanted him to have a normal childhood free of pain and fear. We thought, both me and your mother, that he would understand this by the time he reached eighteen, and he would see that we love him, we are there for him whenever he needs us. That he would take it easier…"

"You should have known it could come out anytime. Particularly like this. It's surprising he didn't find it out before."

"Barrys, this is not a shameful secret we tried to hide from him," his wife answered. "Mostly, they're facts no child should be burdened with."

"But Seren is not a child!"

Harry couldn't suppress a laugh which echoed hollowly in the hall.

"I'd hardly say seventeen is grown-up, though at the same age I was sure I was an adult…"

"Your situation was totally different, Harry," his wife countered. "You were much more mature than your companions."

"Perhaps, perhaps not. But I wasn't an adult by any means. I had to live forty-five years to see that, however."

His wife cracked a sad half-smile.

"Seren also is more mature than his mates."

"A little."

"He's much more mature than me," Barrys added.

His words brought brighter smiles to their lips.

"It still means nothing, son," Harry said and tousled his son's unruly hair.

"Dad!" the almost-nineteen-year-old cried indignantly.

"You were always below the general level of maturity."

"Not to mention your grades," his wife added reprimanding. Barrys moaned.

"Oh, come on, don't begin it again! I have four N.E.W.T.s, perfectly enough to do the job I like. I can't help that while a student, you were the star of the school!"

The small click of Harry's study door interrupted the usual verbal spar between his son and his wife. He was limping slowly towards the comfortable armchair next to his desk. The old pain sliced through his thigh and hip with every step – it had become stronger as the years went by.

In two weeks he would be forty-five.

He bit back a moan as he slumped in the chair and his eyes wandered to the family photograph taken about four years ago, not long after Barrys had received his O.W.L. results. Fred Weasley had taken the picture at Fortescue's while eating the sundae-compositions created by Seren himself.

Seren loved ice cream. Well, he loved everything sweet, but ice cream held a distinctive place amongst them.

His older son, Barrys, at the age of fifteen was almost an exact replica of his mother's father; only his unruly hair showed that he was also a Potter by origin. Seren looked more likeHarry: not his face, but his gestures. His younger son, Harry knew, had adored him and so copied everything about him: his words, his tone, his way of moving.

The two boys were whispering from time to time while their parents were waving at somebody outside of the photo.

Harry remembered that day very well. They had planned a meeting with Neville and his family at Fortescue's, but they had been delayed. Lee Jordan and his family, on the other hand, had been going to visit Fred and George, and shortly after the photo had been taken, they had joined them with the twins. George, who in the meantime had become like his father, his paunch growng bigger and bigger with each child he had, and Fred, who had remained thin, almost sickeningly so, had announced a break for themselves and come to sit with them as well.

With the arrival of the Longbottom family, their meeting had resembled a Weasley family reunion: even though all four children carried the name of Longbottom, they were all red-haired like their mother, Ginny. The kids had joined the Potter boys together with Lee's two daughters, and they had soon moved over by Fred, who had been feeding them tricky sweets to their parents' annoyance.

Seren had laughed a lot that day, and together with Denis, the youngest son of Ginny and Neville, they had somehow managed to make Fred swallow something which had caused the thin, tall man to wear a tail, small horns and hooves, to the delight of the children and the passers-by.

Fred was the only Weasley with no family, but he was the most favourite uncle for all of his nieces and nephews. He was quick to laugh and adored the kids in turn, but he loved the often-too-serious Seren as his own. Harry had the feeling that Seren was going to join the WWW, and even though he had never mentioned it aloud, he wasn't too upset about it. At least, there would be somebody from the Potter family.

It was strange though, that Seren was friends with Denis. Denis was very much unlike him: loud and energetic, almost violently so. They were in the same year, and although the Sorting Hat had put them in different houses (Seren to Ravenclaw and Denis – naturally – to Gryffindor) their friendship had endured up until now, the sixth year. Denis reminded Harry of Ron, and this fact always caused a feeling of a blunt blow to his chest, even if that had happened more than twenty years ago…

And there had been so many beautiful days he could have recalled; times they had spent together, the four of them, the Potter family: Harry, his wife, Barrys and Seren. They spent every free moment of their time with their sons: they dragged them through the world, from camping under half-nomadic conditions to luxury hotels. And even though Harry knew that his wife was trying to compensate for his own rotten childhood as well, it hadn't lessened the fun of it. The kids adored it so much that last year Barrys, despite being a Hogwarts graduate who could have spent his free time chasing after girls, to their great surprise had suggested going on a holiday together to Australia.

It had been so beautiful, so perfect until now, and against Harry's negative expectations it had lasted for more than seventeen years, not a short time by any means – but now it was over and it hurt. He had been dreading this moment, just like his wife, ever since that day seventeen years ago when the few-days-old Seren had come to them. Though his wife had done everything in her might to prepare them for this day, from reading the books about this topic to consulting experts, preparation hadn't been as successful as it should have been.

Against their expectations, their adopted son, whom Harry and his wife loved as much as they loved their own flesh and blood, Barrys, somehow had figured out that Harry and his wife weren't his biological parents. He had taken the news with hurt and annoyance, as if he had been deceived, and hadn't let either of them explain the situation. He had been sulking for weeks, since he had gotten home from Hogwarts, and today he had packed his things, confronted them like common criminals, with the facts, and in the end shut the door in their face.

If somebody had told him seventeen years ago that it would be more agonizing than a Cruciatus, he would have laughed in their face. But _today_ wasn't seventeen years _ago_, but seventeen years _after_.

Seventeen years!

The child he had taken in so reluctantly had somehow grown in the last 17 years into his life and his heart. Seren hadn't been even six months old when Harry would have hurt anybody, without a second thought, who would have dared to harm him. His wife had needed even less time to come to care about the sickly child.

Harry lifted the photo to his eyes to have a closer look at Seren. The boy, as if he knew, turned away from his brother and smiled directly at Harry with that genuine openness of his, and it recalled another memory, five or six years ago, when Seren had come home from his first year in Hogwarts…

"Dad," Seren looked up from his History of Magic book (Harry had been sick at the mere thought that Binns had been drooling about his story with the same monotony as about the troll wars). "How were you brave enough to defeat Voldemort? In the school, they don't even dare say his name, and you…"

At that time Harry, as the Aurors' Ministry coordinator, had been preoccupied with some personal documents, and for a moment couldn't even understand what Seren was saying.

He looked up, but he needed some time to comprehend the words.

"I wasn't brave," he said finally. "If I had ever thought about who I was fighting, I would have been unable to do it. Things were just… happening to me. I never had much time to ponder them. And then… I was never alone."

"But you were. In the end you were alone."

"No, even then I wasn't completely alone. Many had been thinking of me and I knew that Dumbledore's sacrifice hadn't been in vain, nor was your mother's love or your uncle Ron's whom you have never met…"

"He was Aunt Ginny's brother, I know. You've already talked about him," Seren nodded.

"So I knew they were fighting at my side, even if not physically. And it gave me the power."

"And… how did you kill him in the end?"

The study became completely silent. Harry scratched his head.

"Look, Seren… It's pretty hard to talk about it. In reality, it was almost he who killed me. He tried to… hmm how can I explain this? He tried to lure me into darkness, because he knew it would destroy me. It was a kind of Legilimency, you know, our minds were connected, and somehow I attacked him with the power Voldemort had never had: I didn't want power, I didn't want to win out of hatred, but for my loved ones to live in a free world…"

"I see," Seren said and his black eyes were suspiciously bright. Harry didn't want to peep into his thoughts so he was very careful not to Legilimize him. He smiled.

"Even the fact that I was able to do this, to attack him in this way, wasn't by my own merit. One of my old teachers taught me of Artimency, the Art of Mind."

"Who was that?" Seren asked excitedly.

"You don't know him. He doesn't teach in Hogwarts anymore. His name was Severus Snape."

"What did he teach? Defence against the Dark Arts?"

Harry laughed in spite of himself, then straightened his face.

"No, although he had always wanted to do so. But Dumbledore didn't want him to leave the school after a year. In that time, you know, the job was cursed and no teacher managed to last longer than that."

"And what happened to him? Did he die in the war?"

"No. He taught for years after it, almost until you were born. He was the Potions Master. Once, a serious accident happened during a lesson - a concoction exploded and hit him so that he died soon afterwards."

Shock flooded Seren's face.

"He died?"

"Potions are dangerous."

"I know. Professor Zabini used to say so."

Harry frowned.

"He is the Head of Slytherin, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is. Was that… Snape the Head of Slytherin as well?"

"He was," Harry said a little colder than he wanted.

"You didn't like him," Seren immediately said.

"The feeling was mutual, I assure you. But," with a small wave of his hand Harry stopped Seren's interruption, "finally we managed to get past this grudge. I owe him a lot for surviving the war. Without his help, though reluctant, I wouldn't be here now, nor you, nor anybody else, except for Voldemort and his lackeys." He shuddered. Voldemort had always been a chapter of his life he could never really get over for good.

In reality, he tried to keep the topic at bay, because in every mention of it, heavy darkness was stirred up somewhere in the depths of his soul, and he felt old and sad.

Though he had had no reason to be sad. Not _then_. But now…

He let his thoughts return to that previous conversation.

"I want to be like you." Seren sighed. "But if I don't like somebody, I'm unable to cooperate with them. Like Lenny Wood in Charms."

Oh yes, Lenny Wood. The boy had become one of the main topics of the family since Seren had attended Hogwarts. He was a Gryffindor boy from the same year who had been harassing Seren since the first day. His wife and he had tried to tell him countless times not to pay attention to Lenny, because the boy was just being envious, but Seren, being the nice, shy kid he was, had been hurt deeply by the cruel comments.

Barrys had had to clean the Trophy Room twice with the horrendously aged Filch, because on his brother's behalf he had once cast a particularly nasty hex at Wood; the other time he had even fought with him. Since then, Lenny had left Seren alone, but he had earned his hatred.

"If your life were at stake, you would be able to," Harry answered then; it had happened a year before Barrys's drastic double solution.

"No, never. I'm not like you or Barrys. I would never be able to face evil wizards and cooperate with my enemies." He frowned. "It's not surprising the Hat didn't want to put me in Gryffindor."

Harry saw that something remained unsaid, so he leaned forward a little and looked at Seren seriously.

"Seren, you can tell me if the Hat wanted to put you in Slytherin. It means nothing anyway."

"Nothing?" the boy cried bitterly. "Every evil wizard came from that house. And even now: just one look at the Slytherins and you can see what they are!" he said, but Harry interrupted him.

"How many times have you heard from us, from your mother or me, that Slytherin is worse than the others?" he asked harshly.

Seren flushing, lowered his head.

"Not once. But Denis said…"

"It doesn't matter what Denis said. Seren, Slytherin is not worse than any of the other houses of Hogwarts. Many wizards came from it: good and evil, smart and stupid, cowardly and brave. That professor I mentioned before was one of the bravest I've ever met. He fought at Dumbledore's side. And Voldemort had followers from every house."

"But everybody in our acquaintance… every friend of yours is from Gryffindor…" Seren looked up uncertainly. "If Slytherins are that all right why don't you befriend them as well?"

"Because I lived in Gryffindor for years. These are very old friendships. And I have several friends from other houses: Luna Lovegood and Terry Brooks who are Ravenclaw like you, and Ernie from Hufflepuff…"

"But not even one from Slytherin!"

Harry sighed.

"Seren. The Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin as well. I became a Gryffindor because I begged it not to put me there."

The boy's reaction was quick and unexpected. He jumped up and, circling the big desk at which Harry sat, he launched himself at his father's chest. Harry embraced the trembling boy, a little surprised.

"What's wrong?"

"I thought Lenny was right and… I'm not a real Potter… just bringing shame on your name… that I'm not your son…" He hiccupped into Harry's neck while clinging to him for dear life.

"If the Hat had put you in Slytherin you would still be my son. I wouldn't care."

"You wouldn't?" Seren asked, but did not release himor relax his embrace.

"No."

"But you're happy I'm not Slytherin, aren't you?"

"No. I'm quite proud though to have such a smart son. You know the Hat wanted to put your Mum in Ravenclaw."

"So I'm not a… failure? A disappointment?"

"Stupid child," Harry answered and strengthened his embrace. "Stupid, stupid child…"

He didn't realise when he had begun to cry silently and without tears, but his wife, as always, was at his side. Like that day, almost thirty years ago, when he had been sitting on the top of the Astronomy Tower drinking – as he had believed it to be – the last drink of his life. He had stolen the whisky from the teachers' table, and hurried to the Tower.

There hadn't been too much remaining in the bottle, and he had been almost delirious. But for the first time in his life he had felt brave: he, the hero of the wizarding world, the defeater of the Dark Lord, who had been believed to be brave, though he had never been, not once. But then, after a bottle of Firewhisky he had really been brave, he felt.

He had felt the bravery, the courage to make the step which would make an end of it: of eighteen cursed years, of hated existence. And he would bring Voldemort's last memory to the very place it had belonged and where the dark wizard had wandered to: beyond the veil, where those whispery shadows had been waiting for him, where he would meet everybody he had once loved: his parents, Sirius, Lupin and Ron.

But his wife – who at that time hadn't been his wife yet – had taken the bottle from his hand, had slapped him twice hard and had held him until he had felt he had had no tears remaining. And she hadn't let him jump, not since then.

However, there hadn't been anything romantic in their relationship: it had been just friendship, strong and stable, which had saved both of them. It had taken almost eight years – eight years to recognise they both had been healed enough to say 'Yes' to each other, and hadn't been looking for some kind of substitution for lost people.

The wizarding world had always eyed their perfect marriage with envy.

Oh, yes, Harry was almost used to things being good around him. The last twenty years had drawn him to this belief.

But his world was shaking now.

"I knew, I knew it was a stupid idea. I told you it would end like this." The hoarse words were hurting even his own ears.

"Oh, come on. You know Seren. Give him time. He loves us, loves you. He will come back."

"And what if he does not?"

"I will be here, with you even then."

Harry nodded as he watched the beloved face of his wife: the long, wavy hair which had darkened with the passage of time, the warm, chocolate brown eyes. He knew that as long as Hermione was at his side, he would always be able to face the darkness threatening to flood his very soul. But together with love, he felt fear as well: if she was taken from him…

No. It was better not to think about it.


	2. Seren

**Chapter 2 – Seren**

Even after several hours, Seren was shaking whenever his father or their conversation came to his mind.

How dare he…? How could he…?

The gall of his father! The way he had explained in a serious, but somehow sappy tone about "giving him a normal childhood"! Normal childhood? Ridiculous.

They had just forgotten to tell him something that everybody around them knew: the Longbottoms, the Weasleys and even the Woods… He trembled in anger as he remembered the victorious, primitive face of Lenny Wood when he and his Gryffindor lackeys had ganged up on him in front of the whole school, after the end-of-year feast. Headmistress McGonagall had just publicly praised him for his outstanding results and announced that Ravenclaw had been awarded the House Cup mainly because of him.

"And tell me, you whiny little _Siren_, why did you keep it secret that you are a bastard child? Somebody illegitimate, taken from the rubbish bin by the Potters out of sheer pity?"

Time had seemed to stop. He couldn't move or think - he had stared at the oh-so-hated face shaking his head while his mouth had shaped the silent words:

"You are lying," he had said, but in the meantime, several strange and incomprehensible elements of his life had begun to file into place.

The Hat's comment, _"You could be great there"_, the remarkable way his parents had looked at each other and the too-_fast_ explanation when he had once asked from which branch of the family he had inherited his black eyes… not to mention the complete lack of that fearless bravery which was quite characteristic of both his parents and his brother.

"You are lying," he said audibly, but much less surely. But Lenny had just laughed.

"My Dad told me so. And he was told by a Ministry official who saw the documents. You are a bastard child, little Siren, I could tell from the moment I first got a look at your nasty face…"

The next minute they were standing face-to-face, their wands pointed at each other, but Seren had known that he had no chance. Lenny had had his faithful pawns with him, and Seren had been alone.

Soon he'd found himself on the ground, covered with mud and belching large slugs, his wand somewhere out of his reach. But Denis had finally arrived, his intrusion confounding Lenny's group. His friend had taken him to the prefects' bathroom, where they would be left alone.

"He's lying. Don't mind him!" Denis said.

"And what if he isn't?"

"Mum and Dad would know about it. Or more likely, everybody would know about it."

The answer couldn't calm him down. He was sure: he had seen on Lenny's face that he had said the truth.

Well, to tell the truth, he hadn't been _that_ sure. But as he had passed seventeen and his parents hadn't brought the topic up, he had decided to act.

"Mum, Dad, is it true that I'm not your child?" he had asked less than two hours ago.

His father had been having a break (he had left his study for ten minutes' long pause), and had been drinking his usual tea while walking up and down. At Seren's words the cup had jerked in his hand and the milky liquid had splashed on the ground. He had seen no reaction from his mother: she had been reading, her head lowered, and she hadn't looked up as she always did when someone spoke to her.

Barrys had been halfway to the door: he had been hurrying to a date with his newest girlfriend. His reaction had perhaps been the most sudden: he had first frozen on the spot, then had turned on his heel and almost shouted:

"What?"

"You heard me. I asked if it was true that I'm not a Potter. Just a…" He hadn't wanted to say the word 'bastard'. It would make him agree with Wood. "Just an adopted child."

"What?" Barrys had repeated like a bad actor who had forgotten the next line.

"Who told you this?" his Dad had asked while with a small flick of his wrist, he had removed the milky liquid from the carpet.

"That's not important. I asked…"

"I heard what you asked. And I asked who told you," his Dad had replied coldly. He had rarely been this cold; in fact, Seren could recall only one occasion, when he had been seven and he and Barrys had had a fight over their Dad's broom, which they had stolen from his study. Neither of them had wanted to let the other go first. But then, at least, he had had Barrys to share the paternal fury.

Why should he fear any fury, though? His question had been legitimate, hadn't it?

"Lenny Wood," he had answered nevertheless, and had shot a glare at his father. He had suspected Artimency behind his quick answer. "But it is true, isn't it?"

"Seren," his Mum had said, but his Dad had touched her shoulder to stop her.

"No. It was my idea, I have to answer him."

His Mum had nodded, but now that she had lifted up her face, he could see the tension radiating from it. She had glanced at her husband and Seren worriedly.

His Dad had straightened himself and had taken a deep breath.

"Your mother wanted to tell you sooner. I disagreed. I disagreed, because this knowledge would bring nothing but pain to you, and on the other hand, you aren't any less my son than Barrys."

"You had no right to keep it secret!" Seren cried frantically. The fact that his father had misled him in such an important matter had almost crushed his world. "It's my life! You had no right!"

"It wouldn't have been any better if you knew about it, believe me. At least it didn't spoil your childhood."

"Why didn't you let me decide it?"

"We were the responsible adults. Perhaps we made the wrong decision, I don't know…"

"But I do! Why… why should I learn of it this way, in front of others, in such a humiliating way, that I'm not a real Potter, just a… just a…"

"But you are a real Potter. You are our son, Seren."

"No, I'm not! I'm not your son!"

"You were less than one month old when we took you in. You are our son in everything but blood."

"You lied to me!"

"Come on, Seren! You know that not everything can be told to a child…" There had been no disdain in his Dad's voice, just serenity, but it had enraged him even more.

"But you had no right! Mostly you!" he had pointed a finger to his father. "You told me about your aunt and uncle how they had lied about your parents! And now it comes out that you aren't any better than them!"

"Seren…!"

"Yes, you are no better! I had the right to know about my parents! What happened to them? Where are they? Are they dead? Were they magical? Muggle? Half-blood?

"Seren…"

"I know my name, thank you!"

"Seren, we didn't know your parents," his Mum had said quietly.

Seren's hand had dropped.

"N-no?"

"No. We brought you from a Muggle hospital."

"Muggle hospital?"

"You had been left there. Nobody knows who your parents are," his Dad had added.

"But then… how did you find me?"

"The Headmistress told us that you were in the Hogwarts Book."

"But you should know my parents' names, shouldn't you? Or at least my _original_ name…"

"There was no name," his Dad said softly. "Only the date and the place."

Seren had stopped for a moment.

_There was no name. Only the date and the place._

_You had been left there._

_Nobody knows who your parents are._

The words had cut him like a sharp knife. But he had seen something on his mother's face: something small, a passing expression, a shadow, when she had looked at his father.

A small, logical part of his mind had kept telling him that his parents had been right not to inform him sooner: even now, at seventeen, it had been very hard to hear that his biological parents had rejected him, had thrown him away like an _object_ not needed, a _something_. It had been the opposite of his Dad's case with the Dursleys: they had never loved him, but his parents had done.

But he had been angry and he had needed a target to vent at. He couldn't be mad at his _real_ parents, couldn't shout at the never-seen people, just at these _not real_ parents who had always kept it secret so that he had had to learn it during a school fight from that git Wood. '_Bastard, bastard._'

"You had no right! You should have told me!" he had cried again at the two people who had brought him up and now were standing in front of him embarrassed and guilty, as if in front of a judge. "How can I believe you after this? If you lied to me in this, you could have lied in other things too! What are you still holding back? What shall I learn from others laughing at me?"

While he had been shouting, his father's face had become redder and redder and that logical part of his mind had even tried to stop him, but it had already been too late.

"You must know that we have never lied to you, Seren," his Dad said with forced calm. "The fact that we didn't talk about it…"

"You were afraid that I would go and find them! Or you lied and you KNOW who they are and were afraid that I would find out that they are much better than you!"

His Mum's eyes had grown wide and his Dad had asked with disbelief:

"Better?" And a little louder: "Better?"

"Yes, better!" he had shouted, the last bits of rational thought disappearing.

"How dare you…?" his father asked menacingly.

"How dare _you_?"

"APOLOGISE! NOW!"

"Never!"

"I will not tell you again!"

"Never!" He had waved his wand towards his packed trunk. "_Accio_!" Then had looked at his parents, his thoughts full with fury. "You lied to me! You lied to me all this time! I hate you all!"

And before they could utter a word, he had marched out of the door and slammed it behind himself.

He had been hoping that somebody might follow after him and he could shout a little longer, but nobody had come.

From the house he had Apparated to London, where he had sat in James Park, feeding the cheeky beggar squirrels hazelnuts and trying to get a grip on his feelings and thoughts.

In vain.

When he had arrived at home, before the argument, he had been hoping his parents would dismiss Lenny's accusations and tell him he had been theirs, and everything would be the same it had been before. And even if he had been counting on something dreadful, it hadn't been as bad as to _know for real_ that his biological parents hadn't loved him and strangers had brought him up out of pity.

To know that Lenny had been right all the time.

To know that his parents had lied to him even though there had been numerous occasions to tell him: for example when he and his Dad had talked about the Hat. But his Dad, instead of being sincere, had lied to him, had told him such a lie no man in their right mind would have believed it. Yet he had, because he had wanted to. He had wanted to believe that the Hat had intended to put Harry Potter in Slytherin! Ridiculous! In the last few days, when he had been thinking about these matters, this had been the most offensive memory – and that expression on his mother's face had meant something similar. There hadn't been anything in his father's face or mind, but he had always been a superb Occlumens. His mother, however, had been an honest person whom Seren had never caught lying.

Could it all mean that they had really lied?

He tiredly buried his face in his palms.

It was very late when he knocked on Fred's door. It opened before him by itself and he heard a yell from upstairs:

"I'm coming!"

For a moment he felt uncomfortable. Perhaps Fred had already gone to bed, or it was too late for any kind of call, or perhaps he had a visitor…

But Fred was alone, dressed, holding a book in his hand. He was surprised to see Seren in the doorway with his trunk.

"Seren?" he asked uncertainly, but waving him in. "Come in!"

Leaving the trunk at the bottom of the stairs he followed Fred obediently to the kitchen. The man tossed the small volume on top of a pile of books on a shelf.

"Something to drink? Tea? Coffee? Something stronger?"

"Tea," Seren shrugged.

Neither of them spoke until they had the two simmering cups before them.

"Spill," Fred said and lifted the cup to his mouth.

"Uncle Fred, did you know that I'm not Mum and Dad's biological son?"

If his question surprised the man, he didn't show it. Slowly, he lowered the cup to the table and took a long look at the boy.

"You aren't…?" he asked hesitantly.

"No, I'm not," Seren said, and under the scrutinising look he lowered his head and muttered, "They admitted it. So you didn't know about it."

Fred took a deep breath.

"I think that's not entirely true."

"Excuse me?" Seren looked up surprised.

"I wouldn't say I knew about it, but it isn't true I didn't know about it either."

Seren could feel his temper rising.

"That's nonsense," he growled.

"No, it is not. I remember George and Ginny once mentioned that the Potters had adopted somebody. But by that time I knew both you and Barrys and it was somehow… obvious that it had to be about somebody else."

"That's stupid!" Seren snapped. "And I don't even look like them!"

"That means nothing," Fred shrugged. "There are many people who are nothing like their parents and still they are their biological children. Then again, I had my own problems at that time."

"I don't believe you," Seren stood up angrily. "If somebody tells me something like that, I don't think I would not hear, not _understand_ it!"

"My wife died then, Seren. You were about three years old."

He had never seen Fred so serious. The tone and the topic quieted him. He sat back. Fred went on.

"I wasn't in the British Isles for a couple of years, and after I returned, George and Ginny never mentioned it again. Perhaps your father asked them, or they had been only guessing at first, I don't know. But people don't know about it, that's for sure."

"How? Dad has always been at the centre of attention! Newspapers know everything, _everything _about him, about us!"

"Seren, your father returned to the Wizarding World about the time you were born."

"What?" he asked, astonished.

"After school Harry was admitted to Auror training, but he didn't actually begin it. He disappeared together with your Mum. Many thought that they would never come back. He scarcely sent any owls, so that we learned about their marriage after the fact, and later about Barrys. You were something like… four-five months old when the news came that they had bought a house in Hogsmeade. We were genuinely surprised, mostly when it came out that they would move next to Ginny's house. And your father somehow joined the Auror training…"

Seren didn't know what to say. He didn't know that his father had lived in the Muggle world for years. Of course, his grandparents had mentioned that his parents had lived with them for a while before their marriage, but he had always thought it had been only a couple of days or weeks…

Something else came to his mind.

"Dad said that McGonagall informed them about my birth."

"Perhaps she sent an owl."

"Why would she do that?"

"It could be your origin. Who are your parents?"

"They told me they didn't know, that there was no name for me in the Hogwarts Book either."

Even Fred looked shocked.

"And McGonagall informed them… interesting…"

They sat in thought for a while.

"I think…" Seren said uncertainly, "I think they know something about my origin. Only they don't want to tell me."

"Why would they do that?"

"I don't know. But there's something, I know. I can feel it."

He sensed Fred's eyes on him again.

"Look at me, Seren."

He lifted his head. Fred studied him for a long time: his hair, his eyes, his nose. Seren couldn't even imagine what he could look for such a long time. Fred's face darkened slowly.

"Can you just… scowl at me?"

"Scowl?"

"Yes. And frown."

Seren saw no point in this, but still he did it. Worry joined the dark expression on Fred's features, and he waved his wand in front of Seren's face. The next moment his short hair had grown to his shoulders, even in front of his eyes. He groaned angrily and lifted his hands to flatten it back (he hated long hair), but Fred stopped him.

"No. Just lift up your head."

He did so. The locks were curtaining his face, and when Fred waved again, they became strangely heavy.

He cried in disgust:

"Fred! Turn it back!"

But Fred stared at him, his face thunderstruck.

"Bloody hell…" he whispered.

"What is it?" he asked heatedly while he tried to regain his sight from behind the greasy locks.

Fred sat back in his seat.

"I think I know who your father is," he said very, very softly.

Seren didn't even dare to take a breath.

"My father?"

"Your _biological _father." He waved his wand once more and the greasy hair disappeared. "But I don't know what to say. Harry must have had his reasons not to tell you…"

"He had no right! And you don't either!"

Fred scratched his neck, aggravated.

"And perhaps I have it wrong."

"Fred!"

"Look, Seren. If I'm right, then… Harry and _he_ hated each other. Perhaps Harry doesn't know. Perhaps…" he sighed.

"Fred, don't do this to me! Not you! And I don't care who my father hated! He lied to me!"

"If this is true…"

"TELL ME!"

Fred capitulated.

"You are like one of my old teachers from Hogwarts. His name was Severus Snape. I don't know if Harry told you about him…"

"He did," Seren said, and felt a large stone forming in his stomach.

Snape! The Head of Slytherin!

Now he could understand the Hat very well!

"And what did he say about him?"

"That he was the Potions teacher," he said with difficulty. "And the Head of Slytherin."

"Did he talk about the war and Snape's role in it?"

"He only told me Snape had taught him Occlumency…"

He could see that Fred was having an internal dilemma. Finally he said slowly, articulately:

"Seren. Perhaps I'm wrong and Snape is not your father at all. But… it's just the same… well, many people know about it anyway… Snape, in the first war – not in Harry's war, but the previous one – he was Voldemort's ally."

Seren jumped to his feet, but Fred halted him.

"But you have to know that he had changed sides before the end of the first war, and spied for Dumbledore even through the second one."

Seren could only stutter.

"My fa-father wa-was a Death… a Death Eater?"

"He was that _before_, Seren. If he was your father at all. But he changed sides by himself. I don't know anybody else who was so… brave. He was… a hero of a sort."

"And Dad, I mean my foster father…" he corrected himself, "they hated each other."

Could that be the reason? Snape had died and Harry Potter had stolen his son? But why? Had he wanted revenge? But why this way?

He was completely clueless.

But as for now, he was sure that his _foster father_ had known about it. He could see it in the way his mother looked at his father. And neither of them had denied it when he had accused them of knowing his parents' identity.

The anger that had been looking for a real object, until now, finally targeted his foster parents. They had deceived him. They had stolen his father, _the memory_ of his father from him.

But he would not leave it at that!


	3. Harry

**Chapter 3 – Harry**

While waiting for Oliver's arrival, Harry was nervously arranging and re-arranging the things on his desk. It had been quite awhile since he'd last been here: two weeks ago perhaps, but even then he had just picked up a couple of documents and left. He'd rather spend his time in the Auror Training Centre teaching young men and women than here, behind a desk. He had been given this job after receiving his injury, with a great salary, of course.

He owed Tonks a lot for her brilliant initiative. If not for her idea of the famous Harry Potter teaching the future generations of Aurors he, as the Ministry Auror Coordinator, would be spending his time here, filing boring documents full time. Not to mention that his would-be Ministry co-workers always reminded him of Percy: diligent, strict and humourless. Ravenclaws were the vast majority, of course. There were also a couple of Slytherins, just to spice life up in the office, and the "lower" staff was mostly Hufflepuff. There were only a couple of Gryffindors; the last time Harry had tried to count them, he had had to stop at three. One of them was Oliver Wood.

It was quite useful that he'd come for this short visit today. He could pick up the new documents and bring them home to work with them there. He would also have time to go and give a lecture in the Auror Centre in the afternoon, and later on the club… They said that Mad-Eye would be there today. He'd arrived back from South America after four years of chasing emigrant Death Eaters there. He hadn't been entirely unsuccessful: if the information was true they would be able to bring both Seremov and McNair to trial this year – if the Argentine Ministry didn't annul the extradition treaty, which was still just a verbal agreement. Harry couldn't wait to see Mad-Eye. Seremov's companion, Lestrange, had killed Ron; and even though there was no news about Lestrange's whereabouts, Harry hoped that Seremov would give them some information about him.

He had heard about Seremov's captivity two days ago, and that had been the first good news for days: Seren's leaving and his suspicions about the secret revealed…

Yes, it was true that he'd never wanted to tell Seren the truth; nobody knew it, just the four of them: Hermione, Invictus, the Healer, McGonagall, and himself. Neville and Ginny had suspected something, but in the end Harry had made everybody swear to keep it secret. But now… who knew what would happen? Perhaps he would be compelled to tell the things he'd never wanted to tell – and not because of the reasons Seren suspected. There were facts much more painful than those.

Hermione had always told him that the truth would be revealed sooner or later, but not even she could have known how it would happen. As for him, Harry had been sure they could keep everything secret. Invictus had left the country, and McGonagall was bound by Dumbledore's continued omniscience.

The adoption paper had been filed between the other top-secret texts of the previous war; it had been placed among them without any questions when he'd asked for it to be done. (No one questioned the worshipped hero of the Wizarding World on such requests.) He had been there and he had seen when a secreting spell had been cast on the file for a minimum of fifty years, a term now under consideration by the Wizengamot to be lengthened by another fifty due to the long lifespan of wizards. Even then, the file could not be published, merely accessed by researching historians.

And now, he had learned that Wood had seen it, or someone else had and had unwisely told Oliver. The fact that Seren wasn't his natural son, though painful, was still unimportant in comparison with the fact that somebody had broken through the secreting spell and had seen those documents. It could mean only one thing: war. Again.

Not thirty years had passed since the last war had ended.

Perhaps, if they acted quickly now, they could prevent it escalating. They would have to be very wise…

Somebody knocked, snapping him out of his thoughts. With a small wave of his hand he opened the door and Occluded his mind and feelings with the techniques he had learned.

When the tall man stepped in, he stood up and greeted his ex-friend.

"Hello, Oliver. Thanks for coming," he said, extending his hand to well-built man who shook it reluctantly.

"Good morning, Mr Potter."

Harry mentally shrugged. He didn't really want to be buddy-buddy with Oliver. That time had long passed.

Their relationship, which had been friendly back at Hogwarts, had gone downhill after the war. The Wizengamot had sentenced the brother and father of Cynthia Montague, Oliver's wife, to life imprisonment for being Death Eaters. Harry had caught them and brought them in not long after Voldemort's fall. Upon hearing about it, Oliver had rushed to the Ministry and begged Harry for hours to keep it a secret. They - he and his wife - hadn't known about their association with dark circles, and Cynthia's relatives' imprisonment would reflect poorly on them.

But Randall, Cynthia's brother, had committed several murders and the memory of the victims had compelled the Ministry to treat the case with the utmost publicity. As a result both Cynthia and Oliver had been fired from their Quidditch team, and it was only at Harry's strong request that the Ministry had employed him. Harry had been sure of Oliver's innocence, he'd even sworn to it in front of the Wizengamot, but the good relationship had ended. Oliver had hated him and accused Harry of corrupting his Quidditch career out of sheer envy. Oliver had apparently passed his hatred onto his son.

"Please, be seated," he waved towards the armchairs. When Oliver sat down, he took a seat facing him. "Tea?"

Oliver was sitting there with a straight back, arms crossed over his chest, ready to jump up and leave.

"No," he said with irritation. "When I heard you wished to speak with me I assumed it wouldn't be a mere personal chat, which I do not wish…

"I understand," Harry said interrupting him. "And I didn't request your presence for a friendly chat, though its topic is quite _personal_. It's about your son and my son."

If it was possible, Oliver became even more closed, crossing his legs. Reluctance radiated from his form.

"Yes?" he prompted but not entirely without curiosity.

"Your son Lenny told Seren that he is not my _natural_ son, referring to a document you either heard of or saw."

Oliver went white and Harry saw his hands clenching into fists.

"Yes?" he repeated.

"Is that true?"

Oliver shrugged.

"I might have mentioned something like that to him…"

"Oh, yes? And did you have any proof for that _mentioning_?"

The big man now reddened, but not out of embarrassment. He was angry.

"Why shouldn't I have?"

"Did you see that document with your own eyes?"

"No," Oliver said and swallowed.

"So, your source had to have been very reliable that you accepted it as _the truth_."

Oliver didn't reply, just shrugged. Harry sighed and leaned forward.

"Can you tell me where this very precious information came from?"

"They were talking about it." Oliver's answer was deliberately obscure.

"Who?"

"Well… the others."

"Here, in the Ministry?"

"Of course."

"Could you tell me names, perhaps?"

"Look, Mr Potter, I know that by giving this information away to my son I seriously hurt my Ministry responsibilities, but I will not become a squealer."

"Squealer?"

"Obviously, the colleague of mine who spoke to me about it wouldn't have been allowed to do so…"

"Still, I'd like you to tell me who it was," Harry said, but Oliver's reaction told him that the man wasn't aware of the seriousness of the information. Oliver _didn't know_ where and how this information was kept, _didn't know_ that knowing it meant that somebody had broken into the top-secret section defying state secrets.

Oliver shook his head, though lines of uncertainty appeared on his still-handsome face.

"I do not wish to tell you."

Harry didn't know what to do. Tell Oliver the situation he had put himself in or not?

Finally, he chose a third way. Oliver didn't look at him; nevertheless he was close enough for Harry to check his thoughts with a quick, superficial Legilimency.

He didn't have to search for long: because of the conversation's topic the related thoughts were at the forefront of Oliver's mind. He learned the answer in a few moments: Oliver hadn't heard at the Ministry about Seren's origin. It was Cynthia who had mentioned it once.

This turn of events unsettled Harry. Cynthia! The Montague family!

What could it be all about? How many people knew about the documents? Was this fast revealing of facts intentional, or was it a trap made for him through Lenny and Seren? Or could it be a slip of an unknown enemy that could enable them to stop him before things went too far?

He didn't know, but he couldn't risk that through this conversation Cynthia and those _others_ would learn that he suspected something. He went to his desk, scribbled a couple of words on a parchment, folded and stamped it. Then he turned to Oliver, and though his conscience was whispering into his mental ear, finally he uttered the only possible word in this situation:

"_Obliviate_," cancelling the memory of their conversation. "Thank you for coming here, Mr Wood," he said in a natural voice and handed the parchment to Oliver. "May I ask you to give this note to Mr Shacklebolt? It's urgent."

"Of course, Mr Potter," Oliver cast a last, hateful glance at him and left the office.

When he was alone his feeling of foreboding grew to be nearly tangible. His every instinct pointed in the direction of a new war.

Darkness swirled in him. He knew that he should only remember, _remember, remember…_

But before memories could arrive, he ordered himself to stop.

There were many terrible things in this world, but none of them would be as terrible as Harry Potter remembering.

The past was past. He had to find another way of discovering what he needed and leave the memories where they belonged.

* * *

The lines on Mad-Eye's aging face were getting deeper and deeper as he listened to Harry's account of the events. Harry had already checked the documents and found signs of illegitimate magical handling on three of them. Apparently, someone had leafed through them with no purpose – or that was what they intended him to believe.

None of the three documents contained anything _really_ important. Though Seren's adoption papers could be considered as such, the others were just Auror accounts of personal investigations and the confiscation of illegal magical objects at Lestrange's and Nott's family homes. Before leaving, Harry had strengthened the protective charms on the war documents. Though it was completely contrary to the Ministry's principles of document management, he'd sent the most important ones forward in time by the date the Wizengamot had secreted them, about twenty-five years forward.

"Who else knows that somebody has seen these papers?" Moody asked after Harry finished his account and had given his consent to the time-trick.

"You, me, and Shacklebolt. I'll tell Hermione in the evening."

"Aurors?"

"I gave a special task for a couple of them: I sent two pairs out, one to the Notts' and the other to the empty Lestrange Manor, but I didn't tell them anything special," Harry said.

"Perfect. I think we should alert McGonagall as soon as possible."

"What about Tonks, Hagrid, Aberforth, and Fletcher? The Weasleys?"

"Tonks, perhaps. I wouldn't involve the others for the time being."

"You've always preferred working with Aurors to others."

Moody growled, "Too true, though it's more than that. Now everything's depending on our being as covert as possible. Rubeus is an old chatter and Aberforth too, mostly when he drinks more than he should. As for Fletcher, I haven't met him in ages, only the official reports of his offences… And anyway, we have to look for the leak inside the Ministry."

"I'd alert Aberforth though. Nobody knows about his past role and he could collect a serious amount of information in that pub of his…"

Moody said cautiously, "But if he gets drunk…"

"He won't be if we tell him what it is about. You know we can trust him."

"Only if he considers it serious enough. And I don't think he will."

"Arthur is working in the Ministry as well," Harry added, though he suspected what Moody's answer would be. He wasn't mistaken.

"What Arthur knows, his wife and all his children know as well. We might as well summon the Order then."

"Perhaps we should do precisely that. I'd rather summon them in vain rather than wait until it's too late…"

"Come on, Potter! And _I'm_ called paranoid!" Mad-Eye cried and rolled even his magical eye. "Whoever's aspiring for the role of the next Dark Lord, it will take a considerable amount of time. Years, even. And he is going to have to take you into account as well. We can't raise a panic without any solid proof."

"That's it. He will have to take me into account, as you said. I'm afraid this… incident with Seren is anything but accidental. It's as if I'm being… manipulated here."

"It seems more a side-effect of that search among those documents to me, but you might be right, you have to alert the boy. You know where he is, I believe."

"He went to Fred's yesterday. I don't know where he wants to stay today, probably at the same place. I don't want to follow his moves or press him in any way," he frowned. "Hermione thinks I behaved very stupidly yesterday…"

Mad-Eye just waved.

"You shouldn't take it that hard. You know how teenagers are."

"Yes, I know. That is why I'm nervous," Harry murmured under his breath, but he didn't really want to discuss it with Moody, so he changed topic and asked the question that interested him the most, "What about Seremov and the other guy?"

"The Argentine Ministerio Mágico is still hesitating about extraditing them, but I think it'll get through, mostly because apparently Seremov has committed crimes even there."

"What kind of crimes?"

"He's suspected of murdering a Muggle-born wizard. It's only suspicion, they can't prove it, and they probably won't be able to do so either, but it could make extradition easier."

"And McNair?"

"That's complicated. He gathered a small fortune out of robberies during the war, and now half of the Ministry is in his pocket. I don't think we can do anything – I mean legally."

They talked about international affairs for quite a while (there had been a time in his life when Harry had been completely sure this topic would never interest him – and now he was almost an expert this in the field). After he finished with Moody he drank a butterbeer with Tonks and went home.

The news about the documents affected Hermione in a different way than it had Harry.

"You say that someone actually _held_ that paper?" she asked, worry darkening her face.

"That's not important, Hermione. It's far more serious that somebody could break the protection charms of the top-secret documents!"

"Moody is right, you have to investigate that case, though I don't think it's that important. But now I think it urgent to talk to Seren."

"No. I'll give him time to call…"

"Harry," Hermione interrupted him. "Do you remember what Seren said when he was shouting at us yesterday?"

"He said a lot of things," Harry muttered.

"He said that he didn't know what else he would have to learn from others that we had kept secret from him."

"He knows everything now," shrugged Harry. "He knows that he isn't our son." This sentence hurt. Seren was their son, _his_ son! He had brought him up, had loved him – loved him even now! What else would make him _more_ his son?

"The adoption paper contained two other important facts, Harry," Hermione said softly, not in her lecturing tone. "The date of adoption and our motives for it. And anyway, I think we should tell him the truth."

The date and the motives… Harry's heart clenched in his chest so hard that he didn't understand the implications of the last sentence until a moment later. Then it exploded like it did every time this topic came up. He glared at Hermione.

"We have already agreed not to. Even you swore not to tell him. And we will face those other matters if they come out. But I don't think they will."

"If they indeed do, Seren will never speak to us again."

"Why wouldn't he? Just because we adopted him at the age of three and not sooner?"

"Because we chose the _final_ form of adoption, because…"

"I know that!" Harry snapped. "But we can't tell him _that_! He could easily guess the others and I've already told you I will not subject Seren to the burden I have to carry! No! You don't know what living with it means!" He lifted his hand to stop his wife's interruption. "Yes, you don't know! I know you helped me with it and _yes_, you were always at my side, but you have still never tried it, you weren't compelled to live with it! To live: to wake, to go to bed, to think with it! No! You can't condemn anybody to this fate!"

"Harry, don't be so melodramatic! Just because we tell Seren the truth it doesn't mean he will…"

"How many times in the past years have you told me how well I know Seren? Do you remember? Trust me in this, Hermione. I know my _own son_ enough to know what he would do in the moment should he hear the truth. I'm sure. Then, he'll be there, alone, alone with his thoughts, perhaps in the Astronomy Tower, and I'm not sure you or I will be there to help him."

"Harry, Seren's an intelligent boy…"

"It's nothing to do with intelligence. It's all about that I-want-to-know-the-whole-_truth_ attitude he has had since he first began to think. And even by now, he hasn't learned that there are no truths, just life. Right now the implications of someone accessing those top-secret documents are more important than filling Seren's head with something _true_, but not necessarily _the truth_."

Hermione didn't protest, just lowered her head.

"I'm just afraid we'll lose him…"

Harry walked to the sofa and sat next to Hermione – not too close, but enough to allow him to face her.

"I'm afraid too. But I'd rather lose him this way than… _that way_. Because if you tell him the truth we will lose him just as well; and perhaps we won't be able to save his life either."

Cautiously he stroked the wavy hair out of her face and leaned closer so that he could embrace her shoulders and enfold the shaking body.

"Everything'll be all right, you'll see. I'll always be there for you."

Hermione pressed her face to his shoulder and Harry felt her nodding. The conversation couldn't go on, however, because the fireplace hooted aloud and Fred's head appeared in the flames.

"Harry, Hermione? Am I interrupting?" he asked, a little embarrassed as he caught sight of them.

Hermione, as though she had done something wrong, moved away from Harry, and without turning her eyes to Fred greeted him and then disappeared into the bathroom.

Fred looked at Harry questioningly.

"Is it… because of Seren?"

Harry nodded. "Yes."

"He's here."

"I know."

"Sometimes I feel your knowing everything is unnerving," Fred joked, but his smile didn't reach his eyes.

"I feel it as well," Harry tried to lighten the mood just as unsuccessfully. "Are there any problems?"

He could see discomfiture on Fred's face.

"I… I think I did something… stupid, but…"

"But…?" Harry asked when Fred didn't go on.

"I told Seren who his father was."

For a moment, the blood froze in Harry's veins. He jumped up.

"His fa… his _father_?" – he stuttered.

"It was Snape, wasn't it?"

The room swirled around him. No! That couldn't be true!

"Wha… what did you say?" he asked, but Fred didn't answer; he came through the fire and caught Harry before he could collapse and sat him on the sofa.

"He told me you weren't his natural parents. That was when I thought… he was never like you, but up until now I just thought it happens quite often that natural children are not like their parents. But now that I got a closer look, and it was just a tip, you know, but I think I was right. I'm not sure, though but was I?" Fred babbled nervously.

Harry was unable to utter a word. He was just shaking his head. Fred might have taken it as encouragement, because he went on.

"He's really like him, and unlike him: his nose, his mouth… his movements… I'm sure it's because you brought him up that his movements remind me of you rather than Snape and he could have inherited his nose and mouth from his mother's side, but other than that he's the spitting image of Snape…"

"Fred," Harry managed to open his mouth. "Please."

Fred reddened and shut his mouth.

"I think whatever I tell you, you will tell it to Seren." Fred nodded uncertainly. "Even if I ask you not to?"

"The boy has right to know the truth."

Hearing the word _truth_, Harry couldn't suppress a cynical laugh.

"And I have the right to refuse to tell those _truths_," he said mockingly. "What would you do if I told you that Seren is indeed _our_ son in every sense of the word?"

"Come on, Harry. You yourself told him you are not…" he began, but Harry interrupted him.

"And what about those children who are adopted in the _final_ way? Can you still say the child is not theirs?"

"But the final… did you do it the final way? But that's magic and… it doesn't work in every case, only in… Oh, my God."

His shock was written all over his face.

"Yes, it doesn't work in every case," Harry nodded. "That's one reason we don't want to tell him."

"But… how can that be?"

"That's a very long story and I didn't know about it until Dumbledore chose to share with me."

"Dumbledore?" Now Fred was utterly confused. "But he's been dead for more than twenty-five years!"

"His body only," Harry said. "But I can't tell you more unless you swear you will not say a word to Seren."

"I can't promise that."

"What if I tell you that that information about Seren's adoption has been stolen from the top-secret department of the Ministry? You know, the department where the documents of the previous war are."

"But… why are you telling me this?"

"Because you guessed a very important thing, and even if I erase your memories about it, Seren would tell you again, and anyway, you could guess it again. If the two of you begin to investigate there could be much more serious consequences than for you to know the _truth_," he emphasized the last word sardonically. "But you can't tell Seren."

"I can't promi…"

"You must. But you know what? I'll tell you everything, and if after that you still can't understand why it must be kept secret, I will Obliviate you. What do you say?"

"It's not a deal."

"It's the best I can offer."

For a long time they stared at each other. Finally, Fred nodded.

"I accept."


	4. Chapter 4  Seren

Betaed by **Innocentimp**.

Also Imp is to be thanked that I go on with this story at all. I have so many other things to look after that I couldn't bring myself to continue this story in English. Butthe **Hungarian version is already finished**, so my only task is to translate the chapters regularly, and I plan to do precisely that, mostly after the 1st of July when my exams will all be over.

About my other stories: Firghted with False Fire will be continued after book 6, and if nothing too radical happens in it (e.g. Snape dies), I will make it fit in HBP's universe.

Those who have added me to their alerts list, have to suffer a lot of false alerts, because a friend of mine has been translating the Happy Days in Hell trilogy to Hungarian (I'm her beta there ;-D), and I have been uploading the chapters as they are smoothed. We only finished HDH, and in two weeks begin to post CotR.

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Chapter 4 - Seren

* * *

It was unbelievable that the Ministry of Magic didn't have _any _document of him! Yet, it was a fact. The only document he'd received from a reluctant ministry officer clearly stated that he was indeed Seren Potter, natural son of Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, and there was nothing about adoption or the muggle hospital he'd been born in. Nothing! 

Though the "Place of birth" part of the document contained "London" rather than "St. Mugno's", that wouldn't be very helpful in any further investigations.

He didn't understand it. A simple blood test could reveal his true origins; so then how was it possible for his parents to state that he was their son without the slightest mention of an adoption?

So many things depended on biological relations in the magical world; a lot of potions, medicines, even charms, both simple and complicated, required blood relation to be successful. Hadn't his parents thought of that?

He was completely clueless and felt terribly alone.

Throughout his life, he had relied his dad, mum or brother to be around to help him if he was in trouble, or even just to answer his questions. His dad had never been the secretive kind, but now he had forbidden even Fred to share what he'd learned. And it was clear that Fred had learned things. Seren could see it on his face. The lines of worry were telling, as was the way his eyes swept over him. Fred _knew _something he didn't, though he had denied it or he dismissed Seren's questions with a joke. He couldn't talk to him anymore.

He would have left Fred's as well if he could have; but he didn't know of any place to go. Going home wasn't an option, and he only had enough money for a couple of days. September was too far away, six weeks until he could return to spend his last year in Hogwarts.

Though he was quite hesitant to return to a place where everybody _knew_…

Still, he missed his family, almost terribly so. He missed his father even, not to mention his mum and brother, Barrys.

The fireplace in the living room hooted loudly followed by someone crying out.

"Seren! Seren, are you here?"

Seren sprang to his feet about to open the door and to yell back to Barrys that he was upstairs, but a momentary thought stopped him.

He wasn't Barrys's brother anymore. He had no right to force himself upon a person with whom he had nothing in common. Really _nothing_; because even if his parents had made a conscious decision to adopt him, Barrys had nothing to do with that.

The door opened with a bang, and Barrys marched in completely ignoring Seren's glare.

"I was sure I would find you here wallowing, but I thought you would be happier to see me."

"I _am_ happy," Seren said without glancing at his brother.

Barrys, not being even the slightest bit discouraged of Seren's tone, slumped to the other side of the bed and looked at him.

"I know what you are thinking, and I think you are completely cracked," he said plainly. "We are still brothers. It doesn't matter if you were adopted."

"It changes everything."

"It changes nothing, you dolt. But I didn't come to listen to your selected stupidities. I wanted to know if you are planning to come home."

"Never!" said Seren immediately, and to his surprise, Barrys nodded.

"I thought so." He leaned back in the bed and put his hands under his head. "I'm moving out as well. I don't want mum and dad to know everything about my life… It's time to get a bit more independent… Would you like to move in with me?"

Seren grinned, in spite of himself.

"So much for being independent."

"It's only six weeks. Then you will go back to school and I can be free… but until then you could live with me."

"But…" Seren began, but his brother went on, as if he was reading his thoughts:

"I will help you in that search of yours, of course." He cast an annoyed glance towards Seren. "Dad has completely refused to talk about it, and even mum doesn't say a word. _'Ask your father!'_ she said when I tried to iron some information out of her, and dad, the last time I tried to ask him, nearly yelled his head off."

"What did he say?"

"What, what… the usual. They have already said everything. They don't know anything about your parents. Oh, and dad added that he'd like you to come home."

"I will not go home," said Seren as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Yes, you've already said so. And what about my offer? Would you like that? I know a very nice place near Ipswitch at the seaside. A small cottage with two rooms…'

"Ipswitch? Near London?"

"Yes, that's it. Quite far from Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley. You won't have to worry about being found."

Seren lowered his head.

"I don't know…"

"Oh, come _on_!" Barrys cried, jumping down and marching to the door. "Pack your things, in the meantime I'm going to put coffee on.

* * *

The cottage was nice, though a bit plain and very dirty. It took quite a bit of time to spell the rooms clean. (This must have been the reason for the discounted price, Seren mused.) By the time they were done both of them were pretty hungry. 

"I know a nice inn here, in the neighbourhood," said Barrys, looking around the almost acceptable living room. "We could pop over for a lunch. But first we have to change clothes."

"Why?" asked Seren. "Is it a muggle place?"

"Yes, it is," Barrys nodded. "A friend of mine who recommended this cottage told me about it."

"Have you ever eaten there?"

"Once. It was delicious."

Seren just shrugged off his robes. He was wearing muggle-like clothes under them anyway. Neither of their parents, having been raised muggle, could bring themselves to have only underwear under the robes, like many of Seren's classmates did. Many muggleborns did make the adjustment in dress, as it was trendy to copy purebloods in fashion. He and Barrys had always been different, primarily because they had chosen to follow their father rather than fit the trends. The fact was they were usually the followed ones. Or at least Barrys was. He had an innate talent to lead the way.

Seren preferred to blend into the background, though it was generally he who had concocted their plans. These plans hadn't really been of worldwide importance, but they had been dangerous: stealing an acromantula egg from Aragog's nest in the Forbidden Forest, or the searches they had held for Arthur Weasley's old Ford Anglia. Then there had been the weekday trips to Honeydukes and to the Three Broomsticks, not to mention the exploration of new tunnels in Hogwarts, unknown even to the Weasley twins. There were many more tunnels then even the Marauders had known about. Barrys had somehow managed to steal the infamous Marauders Map from their dad's worktable. They hadn't been so lucky with the Invisibility Cloak. Barrys couldn't steal it, and their parents had refused to hand over them with an adamant NO.

They hadn't been too discouraged by that turn of events: Seren had found a very handy charm in one of their mum's Charms Books. It was the Disillusionment charm, it couldn't offer complete invisibility, but at least it could be handled more easily. The charm was better for use with more than one person, and –naturally– the charm had never slipped off the person wearing it.

Their school group had earned its name after this charm. They called themselves the Illusionists, and their main activity was to provide the student population with butterbeer, Honeydukes sweets and WWW tricks (mostly Skiving Snatchboxes). Though after McGonagall had seriously threatened Barrys with expulsion, his father notwithstanding, the enterprise had gone completely over to Seren, who had never been suspected of such "crimes". When Barrys had finally finished his schooling in Hogwarts, the project had died out. Denis, a fellow Gryffindor, and Seren's friend, had been the leader of the group after Barrys graduated, but he hadn't been half as daring as Barrys had been, so the Illusionists had closed their business.

* * *

The meal in the inn was really delicious. 

"My friend told me that this is the only region in Snape where one can eat good stuff. It's probably because of the French…"

"Where?"

"In Snape. Why?"

"That name…" Seren began, but he then realised that he hadn't told Barrys about the conversation with Fred where he had learned that Snape had fathered him. Seren summarized the conversation in a few sentences.

"…and then, Fred went to visit dad, and when he returned, he wouldn't tell me what their conversation had been about, just told me to believe in what dad says, because it was the truth…"

"The truth?" asked Barrys. "But how…?"

"I asked the same, but Fred wouldn't say anything else. Just the same things, '_believe him, he's telling you the truth_.' But how can I believe anyone? I went to the ministry to see my original documents, but I only found that those documents don't even mention that I was adopted! I was mentioned there as if I were mum and dad's natural son!"

Barrys's brows lifted.

"No data about being adopted? But what did Lenny's father see?"

"Don't have a clue. But he must have seen something if dad confessed that I had been indeed adopted!"

"But it wasn't mentioned…"

"I found it strange as well."

"Because it is. Imagine if Flitwick had made us practice the Locogenis charm on each other, it would have been obvious in a moment that we are not brothers, or more so, not even relat… or…"

"Or?" Seren looked at Barrys excitedly.

"I don't know if I remember well, but it seems that there is another kind of adoption… final, or perfect or whatever its stupid name is, which is good for situations like that. There are still those Muggle ways to show your real origin, because you don't really become your parents biological son, but…"

"Yes?"

"But it can be use only in special situations. When…" Barrys blushed "when the mother's husband wasn't the child's father."

Seren paled.

"You imply that I… that I…"

Barrys went on quickly.

"It's not sure, that you were adopted that way. That type of adoption needs at least one biological parent…"

Seren didn't know what to think. He was sure that his mum and dad would have reacted differently if he had been Hermione Granger and Severus Snape's son. His mother wouldn't have told him that she had adopted him… Or perhaps it was that they were ashamed?

Perhaps his mum had gotten pregnant by this Snape person, and his dad had killed him, and they had been keeping it secret…

This latter line of thoughts was just too implausible, even for him. Even if he was mad at his dad, he couldn't imagine Harry Potter killing somebody for something like that. If his dad was famous for anything, it was his mildness – a strange trait for an Auror. He was never cruel to his victims.

This proved nothing.

He was sure his dad would have treated him differently if his beloved wife had cheated on him, and he had been the result of such a liaison.

Barrys was deep in thoughts as well.

"And what do you know about this… Snape?" he asked finally.

"Not too much. Dad said once that he was the Head of Slytherin and taught Potions."

"Slytherin? Then is it possible that you are a pureblood?" Barrys asked and bowed deeply towards Seren. "Forgive me, sir, if I ever thought your Majesty to be such like me," he said jokingly.

"Git. It's not very likely that my mother was a pureblood witch if mum and dad collected me from a muggle hospital. And if mum is my…" he didn't finish it, and both blushed.

"It's so strange to imagine that dad isn't your father," said Barrys suddenly changing topic. "Your gestures are just like his. And you are not like that pigheaded, aristocratic branch. Well, it doesn't matter anyway, but perhaps that name, Snape is Snape for a reason. Perhaps we can find something about it in this village. There's a castle here. We should go and see, maybe ask the locals…"

"I don't think the castle belongs to a wizarding family. If it did, the locals wouldn't know about it. You know those pureblood customs… Like Grimmaud Place in London."

"But we have to begin somewhere, don't we? And I don't want to go home and go on with cleaning, so we could have a look around. It wouldn't hurt."

After two hours they still hadn't learned anything useful, though the caretaker of the castle, which was currently a hotel, gave a long lesson about Snape's history in the last two centuries. The lesson was long and tremendously boring, but in the end, it came out that the elderly man had never heard of any Snape families.

"I'm sure that nobody of that name lived here," he said firmly. "I know every family in this area, my father and grandfather were postmen here, but I never heard them mention anything similar. Snape…!" He shook his head. "Is there a surname like that?"

The next trip had ended up at the local council, with similar results. Nobody had ever heard of the Snapes, but when they had explained that they had been leading genealogical researches, the administrator of the small office had finally come up with a good idea.

"Why don't you go to the local church? There are old registers – much older than ours. If they were noblemen you may find them listed there. If they were not, the situation is worse, because in that case this name could only mean that they had been from here, but they had moved to another place where they had been given the Snape name after the village they had left. It happened quite often in the Middle Ages, because surnames weren't common."

So Seren and Barrys had headed to the local church office, but they never arrived. While they were walking down the main street, talking about their chances of finding anything usable, a short man with tanned face stepped up to them.

"I heard you have been asking Larry about the Snapes," he said without a greeting, and his eyes glared menacingly at the two boys.

"Larry?" asked Barrys surprised.

"The caretaker of the hotel," the old man explained.

"Oh, I see, yes. We are doing some genealogical research," Barry answered politely.

The old man knitted his brows giving his face an air of anger.

"Don't lie to me, lad," he said softly, though Seren could perceive the threat in the quiet tone. "The Snapes have already died out. And even if they had offspring, they wouldn't be _such_ _a_ _kind _as you are. You'd better go home and forget this ridiculous research."

"What kind do you think we are?" Barrys asked.

The old man didn't answer. He laughed, but his laughter was dry and without mirth or humour. "Go away! You will not find anything in those church registers anyway. The Snapes weren't a religious lot."

"Being registered wasn't a question of religion until the last century," Barrys said. "On the other hand, it's not your business what we do or whom we are searching for."

"Be careful you don't get hurt by that research of yours…"

"Do you plan to curse us?" Barry asked provokingly. "You should think twice before threatening us with anything like that."

"I see you are just like other younglings. You laugh at things you know nothing about…"

"And what kind of curse do you plan to use? Something _Unforgivable_?" Barrys asked and made a quick movement with his hand so that the old man could see his wand for a moment. The old man staggered back.

"Leave me alone, I'm just a Squib… If you dare to hurt me…"

Seren in the meantime managed to snap himself out of the shock he felt when he had learnt that somebody had apparently known about the Snapes and stepped closer to the man.

"So you _know_ about the Snapes."

The man made another step back, his face still scared. "What if I know? It's not your business," he said, but his tone was defensive rather than arrogant. Seren followed him.

"You should tell us. We are looking for them. I have to know what happened to them," he said, his tone more and more loud.

"Seren!" Barrys seemed surprised by his brother's sudden determination, but Seren didn't listen to him, and made another step towards the wavering man repeating, "I have to know what happened to them."

"It's not your business, I told you!"

"Seren!" His brother's tone now held admonition, but Seren didn't care.

"I want to know of them!"

"They died out. Nobody is alive. The house can't be found. The protecting charms…"

"House?" Seren's heart began to beat in a more accelerated rate. "Where is it?"

"Seren," his brother now was whispering into his ears. "Seren, don't be an idiot. This man behaves suspiciously. Remember what dad taught you!"

Seren turned on his heels, face-to-face with Barrys.

"_Dad_?" he asked cynically. "I'm looking for my _dad_!"

Barrys became embarrassed, but he leaned closer and said, "It's not important now. Can't you see that this man…" he nodded towards the man standing behind his brother "is up to no good? He was waiting for you…"

"He may know something about my real father!"

"Dad is your real father! He raised you! That… Snape didn't even know that you existed. He died before your birth."

"It wasn't his fault that he died!" Seren cried angrily. "And dad has been lying to me, and he would have continued lying if I hadn't found out the truth!"

"You didn't find out the truth. It was Lenny who told you!"

"Would it have been better if I never learned of it?"

A strange expression crossed Barrys's face, similar to those he had worn when, very rarely, he had been offended. "Yes. It would have been much better. What's the good of it now, that you know?"

"I've learned that I'm not myself."

"That's stupid. You are still you."

"Don't you understand?"

"No, I don't."

Seren waved dismissively at him and turned back to the old man. "I'm a Snape too. I have right to see the house."

The old man, who had been watching the two brothers' row unconcerned, now lifted his eyebrows. "You? A Snape?"

Seren drew his wand and with a flick of his hand charmed his hear just like Fred had done two days ago. "Look."

Both men were surprised. He could only hear his brother's gasp, but he could clearly see the shock on the old man's face, which soon turned to embarrassment.

"But… the last master is long dead… and he had no children…"

"I'm here nevertheless."

"Seren, we're not even sure if Fred was right," Barrys tried to cool him down again, but Seren didn't even turn to him while answering "Of course he was."

Turning to the man again Seren said. "I want to know everything." With another flick of his wand, he restored his previous hairstyle.

The old man shifted uncomfortably and shot a glance at Barrys.

"Who is he then?"

"The son of my adopting parents. My step-brother."

"If you are indeed a Snape, and you can in fact see the house, he still can't. He can go as far as I can, to the borders."

Seren shrugged impatiently, and turned again to his brother.

"I'll be home as soon as I'm finished here."

"You can't go alone!"

"Why can't I? He's only a Squib. What harm could he do to me?"

"And the house? It might be full of dark magic! You can't go there all alone!"

"I'm an adult now. I can go wherever I want."

Barrys shook his head with a pained expression on his face. "But… you were always so careful…"

"And I've never been myself! This is my first chance to know who I am!"

"That's a lie!"

Seren, his wand still in his hand, made an angry step towards Barrys. "You can't know anything about this!" he said and lifted his wand.

"Do you plan to curse me?" Barrys snapped back.

Seren became even angrier at this question, but lowered the wand. "You know that I don't. But I have to go now. I have to know what happened to my _real _family."

"I can go with you."

"He can't," the old man croaked impatiently. "The charms won't let him. Only family members."

"You heard him!" said Seren.

"You can't go alone."

"I can and I will."

"But… why don't you first speak with someone you know and trust? McGonagall? Or uncle Neville, or aunt Molly… you can't go there unprepared…"

"Dad has told Fred to shut up. I'm sure he's already alerted everybody else as well."

None of them moved, they just stared at each other for several long seconds.

"Shall we go, then?" the old man urged them. "I don't have the whole day to listen to this useless balderdash."

"We can go," Seren said, but looked at Barrys seriously. "I'll be home soon. I promise. And I will tell you everything."

As he followed the old man's slow steps he didn't look back, yet, he could feel his brother just silently standing there. However, when they turned at the corner, and he took a last look at the street, there was nobody standing where their conversation had taken place. The street was empty, and the bright sunshine seemed somehow dim. A sudden wind came up even though it was summer. It chased some dead leaves about, the resulting sound evoking a shiver from Seren.

Perhaps it wasn't such a brilliant idea to go alone.

Still, he just couldn't leave this opportunity to go by! He took a deep breath, turned, and followed the old man's unsteady steps.

* * *

The whole story will be 13 chapters altogether.

Please, leave me a review, if you feel so.


	5. Chapter 5 Harry

Beta: Elsa2 (go and read her stories! She's fantastic!) THANKS!

Sorry for the LONG delay. I try to be faster this time.

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Chapter 5 – Harry

* * *

Even after the lesson, he was in a bad mood, and that didn't happen too often. He liked to teach these talented, young men and women, and these occasions was always able to cheer him up – even when he arrived here from the ministry, having had a rough quarrel there.

From the ministry but not from his own home.

How much a man can be accustomed to good! He'd always liked to go home, to his last haven, the only place he felt really at ease. When the boys had been little, it was even better: the constant laughter, the jokes, the mischief-makings… he always had sided them against Hermione… and the tea-times in the evenings, and the long walks in Hogsmeade, or up to the castle where they could stare at the illuminated windows of the castle for minutes, and returned home. The boys hadn't accompanied them on those walks too often: they preferred to go to Neville's or have their friends come over instead, and Harry could be always sure to meet something unexpected upon arriving home.

When the boys had gone to school the house had become strangely quiet. It had taken some time for Harry and Hermione to find the new rhythm: it was much calmer, but no less satisfying. They began to hang out with old friends again, whose children were in school as well, or to look for some muggle kind of entertainment other than watching telly, which they could always do at Hermione's parents'.

Harry liked this life, very much so. But since Seren had left them after that awful quarrel, his home had become a battleground, and his oh-so-beloved life lay in ruins. Seren was mad at him, Barrys had decided to support his brother, Hermione and he often had quarrels, and once after one of those quarrels he'd spent the night on the couch of his workroom. Hermione, of course, had been sulking for days after and it had been almost impossible to get on with her even in the simplest everyday things.

It was not a miracle that teaching had lost its appeal too. His pupils could sense his apathy, and the usually animated lesson had turned to a dutiful obligation for both parties. The young people had been staring at Harry through dull and sleepy eyes, while he had been struggling to keep his thoughts at the topic – and failing miserably.

He hurried back to his office ready to Disapparate home as fast as he could, but Moody caught him just in the door.

"Potter, a moment!"

Harry gave up the chance of a fast disappearance.

"What's it?"

"One of our beloved delinquents has arrived. Seremov. The ministry doesn't know he's here, and with a bit of paperwork I organised to keep him here for this evening. I thought you wanted a word with him."

Going home forgotten, Harry entered his office to lay his books on the table, and turned on his heels to follow Moody who was already halfway to the staircase.

Seremov!

He had to have a strong grip to keep his growing anger under control. It would be a hard conversation, and he would need his head cool so as not to let the long-awaited moment slip in a heated moment of fury and frustration.

Perhaps he would learn something about Lestrange's whereabouts; perhaps he would know what had really happened that night when his best friend had died. Or perhaps they would receive a useful tip-off and be able to find the Death Eaters still hiding: Malfoy and his accomplices Rodolphus and Bellatrix. Yes, Seremov could be their way to Rodolphus and to that perverted bitch of a woman, and Rodolphus might even lead them to Malfoy…

His guts clenched at the thought of Malfoy. No, he wasn't afraid of him, it needed much more than a Malfoy to destroy him, but the slimy aristocrat was clever, very clever, and no one could guess what his next move would be. Like a snake…

A couple of days after Harry had killed Draco Malfoy, he had received a message via owl. Nothing extraordinary: it had contained no curse, no poison, no mail bomb, just some words with an elegant writing:

_Do not think you can escape the vengeance of a grieving father._

There had been no signature, but none had been needed. And Harry couldn't go and protest to Lucius Malfoy that killing Draco Malfoy had been only a chance – he had believed him to be his father, Lucius…

He had trained his sons to be skilled combatants, he'd practised with them every day from their very young days, and if he'd told once, he'd told them a million times not to trust strangers and – even more importantly – not to trust acquaintances behaving in an unusual way. As well as that, he had taught them Occlumency and Legilimency so that they would be able to defend themselves in any way.

But if they could catch Malfoy through Seremov, his night sleep would be much calmer from now on.

* * *

The cell was dark, and Moody on their way down had told Harry they had been keeping Seremov in dark and in total uncertainty for hours deliberately. Harry generally didn't agree with such a treatment, but this time he was grateful that he would meet a bit softened version of Voldemort's infamous strategist.

Seremov was barely older than him, he had been in the same year as Krum in Durmstang. He had entered Voldemort's service not long after Harry had won the Triwizard Tournament.

Harry knew the details of Seremov's life quite well: the man had already been caught once, and so there were documents of him in the ministry, but using his brilliant strategic skills, he had escaped during the transport from the ministry to the prison.

The man now looked much older than Harry. There were several grey streaks in his hair and elegantly cut beard, and there were heavy lines across his forehead and in the corner of his eyes. But he didn't seem helpless or weak. Even when they had just entered the cell and lit their wands, and Seremov couldn't yet see his opponents, Harry could catch the expression of his face and knew that his brain was working very hard to find the way out of this situation.

It was completely fruitless to try to legilimize him: his eyes staring directly at Harry were empty and his mind closed. The man was a skilled Occlumens.

But his body betrayed his nervousness: his back was too uptight, and his arms crossed over his chest.

"Will you answer or questions?" asked Moody with no preamble, but before he had finished the sentence, Harry already knew the answer. Moody could sense the same too, because he added: "We have tools to make you talk, believe me."

A strange frown appeared on Seremov's face.

"Tools? Are you going to torture me? I was told that since Potter and his beloved wife had won over the ministry, physical punishment was deleted for good."

"We are not in the ministry, Ivan, and my wife isn't here," Harry answered, his expression mirroring that of Seremov's. "But even if she was here… I don't think she would make an exception of you. And of course," he paused for a moment, because Seremov made an uncomfortable shift, "of Rodolphus either."

"Oh, _that _case," Seremov said, uncrossing his arms long enough to wave a dismissive hand, and he became much calmer. "I didn't participate in that, you should know it. I was sitting in one of the ministry's examination cells when Rod did your friend in… What was his name?"

But Harry wasn't easily angered. He repeated:

"We are not in the ministry now."

"And no one knows you are here," added Moody with a vicious glee on his face, and his magical eye was dancing madly in the weak light.

"I'm still not sure that Potter has enough power to cast an Unforgivable at me. He wasn't able to do that not even to destroy the Dark Lord…"

Harry laughed.

"Ivan, Ivan… I was seventeen then. I'm forty-five now. Trust me that all those years haven't passed with no trace." He waved a hand towards the cell's ceiling, and there appeared the sky as it was outside in that very moment over the Auror Headquarters. The clouds were almost glowing in the red light of the downing sun.

Seremov made a step back, and his pupils widened in fear. But Moody just murmured to Harry:

"Potter, showing-off is not your style…"

Harry shrugged, and the next moment they could see only the plain stone ceiling again.

"So? Will you speak?" he turned to Seremov.

"You don't dare to torture me."

"Oh, no, I don't think to sink that low. There are other ways to learn the truth…"

"Illegal use of Veritaserum is strictly prohibited by the International Wizard…"

"Unforgivable Curses are even more strictly prohibited, Ivan, but it never stopped you to use them. But no, we won't give you truth serum." Harry waved again and an armchair appeared behind him. He seated himself comfortably. "From my part, I thought of something more… _effective_…"

Moody again murmured something about Harry's behaviour, but the old auror pulled out a full bottle of Firewhisky from his pocket. Soon, Seremov was completely drunk. In the beginning, he protested against the drinks, but as the alcohol overpowered him, he himself gulped down the last draughts with obvious pleasure and toasted the pair with the empty bottle.

"You can try this method any time you like! You can't make me drunk, believe me, I can hold my drink with the best of them!"

What Seremov hadn't known was that Moody's drinks were always mixed with different (and to Harry unknown) serums and potions, and no amount of practice could make anyone stay sober once they'd had more than two or three mouthfuls.

When the man was sneering at them with malevolence that was just lopsided enough, Harry lifted his wand:

"Legilimens!"

* * *

Four hours later, they were sitting in Moody's workroom. Harry was gulping a strong tea while Mad-Eye tried to fish his Pensieve out of the chaos of his cabinet. Harry didn't mind the short break: memories that weren't his were spinning madly in his head, and he felt nothing other than repulsion that he had had to sink into the pool of shit – again.

It wasn't the worst example of those forays into the filth of a Death Eater mind, not by a long shot, but still, it didn't make it easier to face. But the well-trained techniques helped: he let the memories swirl in the surface of his consciousness, but didn't let any of them to stop and sink. They were coming and going until in a couple of hours they would become part of that pile of rubbish, which was lying in wait in the back of his mind, waiting for his mental gates to be lowered.

But as a fifth year student, Harry had already learned the lesson about the mortal consequences of lowering those gates, so they stood firm for more than twenty years. And would, Merlin help him, remain so for a lot longer.

Moody finally found the stone bowl and, and with a satisfied grunt, he pushed it to the desk. On the other side of the desk a couple of scrolls and a heavy book fell and on the ground.

"You may begin, Potter."

Harry nodded, and lifted his wand to his temple and pulled a silvery thread of memory to the bowl. The sparkling material first turned into a swirl of colours and pictures for a moment, then the surface calmed down, and became soft and smooth as if it were quicksilver.

Harry repeated this action until he could not feel the last bits of Seremov's memories mumbling in his head, and nothing remained of the four-hours Legilimency in his mind.

"We can begin," he stepped back, and stretched himself. "But I warn you, Alastor, Ivan was really affected by that whisky of yours… The picture will not be perfect, and you may feel as if you were drunk as well…"

"You are not talking to one of your pupils, Potter. I've already seen a Pensieve from inside."

"Even when the owner of the memories was completely smashed?"

"Even when the owner of the memories was dying, and by the time I finished watching them, he was not alive any longer."

"I see," frowned Harry, and they both stepped to the bowl. "Let's see, then."

The first memories were completely unimportant: some pictures of Seremov's South American life. And then – Harry suddenly remembered – Moody had begun to ask questions, and from here the memories were more or less answers to these inquiries.

Well, rather less than more.

The "answer" to the "Where is Malfoy now?" question first showed the Lucius Harry had known from his own childhood: the arrogant, disagreeable aristocrat, who, as a right-hand man of Voldemort had been a cut above most of his accomplices. The pictures changed very fast; there were only fragments of real memories among them and even these were too short and with no real significance.

Harry had the feeling of being on a madly waving ship, and he didn't know how Mad-Eye felt, but his stomach began to churn.

But then an elegant saloon appeared in front of them with a small coffee table surrounded by a number of chairs. Only three of the chairs were occupied: Malfoy, McNair and Seremov were sitting in them. The memory couldn't be too old: Seremov looked like the man they had met in the cell. Malfoy was speaking.

"You have to get everybody hiding In Argentina and Brazil prepared. Organised. But no actions – just keep in touch with each other, and build a working alert line."

"Magical or muggle, sir?" Seremov asked with obvious respect while Macnair nodded in his usual stupid way.

"Muggle might be better. I guess the majority live in the muggle world anyway," said Malfoy. He looked annoyed at the thought.

"That was the easiest method to disappear," Seremov explained quickly. "But the two of us remained as wizards, because with the Dark Lord's er… disappearance the Dark Mark vanished from our arms, so that we could easily state that in the UK we were untruthfully accused."

"And how did you get past the ministry examination there? I guess they led an examination anyway…"

"Oh, yes. But we used MM."

Harry saw from the corner of his eye that Moody leaned ahead with sudden interest. But Seremov didn't explain the expression. Malfoy laughed.

"The ministry really is staffed by idiots. Leon," Malfoy turned to Macnair. "How many times did you manage to get through examinations this way?"

"Six, sir," the ex-ministry executioner grinned stupidly.

"Complete idiots…"

But to their annoyance the memory became again a rocking, swirling blur of colours and vague pictures.

Moody looked at Harry. "What's that MM stuff? Have you ever heard about it?"

"Never. I guess that can be the Death Eater scheme with which they can always trick truth serums."

"I too understood this much," muttered Moody, but a new memory interrupted him. They couldn't see Malfoy anywhere in it, and Moody said: "My second question was about Rodolphus."

Harry nodded and both turned to the slightly swaying story.

Harry felt a stab of disappointment when he caught sight of Seremov with thick, black hair: the memory was quite old with no importance for them. It was about some muggle drug business, and Harry knew that there was no point to get involved in it. It was not their country's business, and these drug things were like the hydra: if one head was cut off, two more grew in its place.

And another conversation:

"Ivan, Ivan!"

Seremov had grey hair here. He and Rodolphus were standing on the seaside. The day was shiny and bright, but a cold wind blew – it must have been early spring.

"I heard you are going to get across" nodded Seremov towards the sea.

"Yes," Rodolphus said. "The boss found a job for me there. Family business."

"Family?"

"There are things that can be done only by family members. This is one of those."

"Come on! What's about?"

"Cleaning."

The answer surprised not only the watching Harry and Moody, but Seremov too.

"What?"

"I told you. Cleaning. We found the new Headquarters."

"Why don't I know about it?" cast Seremov a jealous glance at Rodolphus. "Am I not to be trusted? I always supported him, helped him if it was needed…"

"No, it's another thing. I told you: there are things that can be done only by family members. For the time being no one else, just blood relatives can enter the Headquarters."

"Sometimes I hate this stupid, British inbreeding of yours," muttered Seremov. "You are using blood spells to defend your manors while you are interrelated… What a stupid defence! And we, your loyal friends are completely left out…"

"Your work is just as important. And we'll solve this problem too, and as soon as the new Dark Order will be formed, we will change all the defence systems…"

"Can you give me a precise date, perhaps?"

"It's just a short time. The boss said that by the end of summer we could have a stronghold through there."

The memory swirled past, but this time Harry decided to have a break. Mad-Eye must have felt the same, because they emerged from the bowl almost at the same moment.

Moody, muttering something undecipherable under his breath stepped to his cabinet, and began again to rummage through its content. In a couple of moments, he emerged with a bottle of golden-coloured liquid in his hand.

"What's this?" asked Harry suspiciously.

"Something I'd never give to drink to ex-Death Eaters," answered Moody, and filled two glasses with it. "Brandy, and a high quality brandy at that. Cheers!"

Both lifted their glasses, and downed it.

The alcohol acted as a medicine to his upset stomach.

"That was good."

"Yes. How much left?" Moody nodded towards the bowl.

"Enough."

Moody filled their glasses again.

"Rodolphus is here, in Britain. At least he is if the last memory is to be trusted."

"I know," Harry replied tiredly.

It was good and bad news at the same time. Good, because it made their researches much simpler, and they could act in a territory they had the proper authority for it.

Bad, because if Rodolphus was here so was Bellatrix, and most probably Malfoy, and this thought made him feel exposed and vulnerable. However well trained his family members had been, they had no real chance against these dark wizards.

Yes, there was the Protecto Familiam Charm, which should be unknown to the Death Eaters: it was Hermione's own creation, and the reason they had finally dared to return to the wizarding world. It protected the life of their sons Barrys and Seren. But if Seren renounced his family, he could even break the charm… He had to talk to Hermione about it. Harry's stomach churned again, and so he quickly downed the second brandy.

"I hate this situation. I hate this war. It's barely twenty years the other was finished, and now it starts again…" he muttered half-angry, half-resigned.

"It seems we caught them just in time now. Come on, lad, let's finish it. I want to pop into Aberforth's. He told me he had some interesting news for me. Though as I know him that would be about Mundungus and his suspicious businesses again…"

They put their empty glasses down, and approached the bowl again.

The quickly changing images didn't affect his stomach this time. It must be the brandy: he was never a drinker: if he drank just a little, he became rigid and emotionless; too much and he became drowsy.

The colours finally settled down, but this time the only person they could see was Seremov, sitting in a nicely furnished living room reading something when his English-style fireplace huffed and Rodolphus's head appeared in the flames.

"Hello, Ivan."

Seremov peered over his book. "Hello, Rod. News?"

"Some really interesting news, actually. If everything goes plain, we have the chance to secure a very good starting place in the upcoming war. Or perhaps no war will be needed at all…"

Seremov lowered the book immediately.

"Pardon me?"

"You heard it right. We found some very important traces: one of our allies in the ministry, following the tip-op of the boss, took a look into some secreted documents. You will not believe what he found!"

"So? Spit it out!" said Seremov impatiently.

"It's about Harry Potter. We perhaps found the way to eliminate him."

Rodolphus didn't go on again. Seremov was now almost shouting at his colleague.

"Go and play with your house elf, Rod."

"Harry Potter's younger son is not his natural child. He's adopted."

Long break. Seremov was thinking very hard, but in the end, he just waved with resignation."I can't see what we could do with this piece of information."

"The boss has seen the boy." Moody and Harry exchanged a quick look. "Shit," – murmured Harry, but Rodolphus went on. "The kid is the bastard of the traitor."

"Whom?"

"Snape. The traitor. The slimy git who came out to have been working for Dumbledore."

"Is that positive?" Seremov asked with a predatory look.

"Adamant. The boss was in London a couple of weeks ago and ran into the Potters. He managed to cast a simple, blood charm to the bastard, and it worked."

Harry remembered that day. They visited Diagon Alley in the morning, and Seren, with no visible reason, had become sick and feverish by the evening, and it had taken two days to pass. It's so typically Malfoy that he hadn't found something less painful to test for family connections!

"It's still not much. You are so interrelated…" waved Seremov.

"The kid was adopted after Snape had died. And he looks like that oily-haired git, and Snape's mother is a cousin of the boss's mother. So everything fits."

"If it should be true, it changes a lot…"

"Yes, it does. And this is not the whole story."

"Do you still have something to tell?"

Rodolphus broke a triumphant grin.

"We found out how Potter defeated the Dark Lord. And we found a way to destroy him, and the kid will be a tool for it…" but the memory here faded again into nothingness.

Harry didn't know how he had gotten out of the pensieve, but now that he could sense the outside world, he was sitting on the ground in Moody's office, and Mad-Eye was working very hard to wrap Harry's numb fingers around a new glass of brandy.

"Potter! Potter!"

Harry looked up at him, his face grey.

"They know everything… They want to catch Seren…" His heart was beating so hard that his chest began to feel pressed and he could barely breathe. He scrambled to his feet and with a small gesture he refused the offered drink. "Sorry, Alastor, but I have to go."

He was almost running as he left the Auror building, but he had the distinct feeling of being late, whatever else Moody said about their being in time. He was late, _very _late.

He was praying to himself that this time being late would not prove fatal.

* * *

Next: next week, I hope between Wednesday and Friday. 


	6. Chapter 6 Seren

I'm so very grateful to Elsa2 who beta'd this chapter as well! She's marvellous, and she's a very good writer - go and read her stories, they're better than mine:-)

* * *

Chapter 6 – Seren

* * *

The walk took almost two hours, but with the old man being a Squib Seren couldn't even propose to Apparate there, He didn't seem to have a car either, so Seren walked obediently after the dirty, flapping coat. 

The two hours gave him the chance to remember his father's advices in similar situations:

"_Never trust strangers!"_

"_Try to check his thoughts to see if they are hostile or not!"_

"_Keep your wand at hand!"_

But he was mad at his father, terribly mad, and this meeting just increased this anger. He had finally found somebody to show him the truth!

And the advice seemed to him to be mere obstacles in his way to find himself; his own past; his own _life_. His father had no right to keep secret a fact that not only Fred, but the old Squib here had almost immediately guessed and recognised.

It was impossible his parents hadn't known about his ancestry.

How, how then could they have made Fred believe that they hadn't known? Not just his father, but his _mother _too!

In the last days his life had seemed to collapse around him; in the place of security and love crept something ugly and menacing, which swirled in the depth of his consciousness like a monster ready to break out and flood his life…

He didn't know where those thoughts came from, but the insecurity was like a monster lying in wait, ready to kill. Perhaps it was more than mere insecurity. Perhaps it was the inheritance of his _Death Eater _father, waiting for the right moment to rule over him. And even though in the past he would have said 'no' to such a heritage, in his present state of hurt he felt it something cherished and dear, something which linked him to his ancestors, his real family.

If there was no other inheritance but this darkness, then he would embrace it.

There were moments of uncertainty when this argument sounded forced even to his own reasoning, but he convinced himself again and again.

If this was what he was, he would accept it.

Anyway, in the end his real father switched sides and went to the Light side; he used the inherited darkness in him in the service of Light!

Now, he was a little sorry for not letting the hat put him in Slytherin. Perhaps that would have been his real place, Professor Zabini's house, accepting his own dark side! But then he had known nothing about his true self at that time, and later on his father's lie had been so comforting… Comforting then, ridiculous now. What a stupid lie! Harry Potter in Slytherin! Hah!

His musing were interrupted by the sudden stop of the old man.

"We're here." He had stopped in a very improbable place. The thin, grungy path which had led them between hedges and stone walls ended here, at a tattered pair of gates which were closed by a thick chain and a big lock. On the other side of the fence the weeds sgrew almost six feet high, which made the severe warning of the 'No trespassing!' sign a bit laughable. Who would be so crazy to deliberately trespass in this jungle? Even he didn't feel up to doing so now that he was confronted with the unfriendly reality of it.

But now the old man was clinking keys as he opened the lock. He pushed one of the gates open just enough for Seren to squeeze himself through between the narrow gap. But Seren didn't move. He just stood there looking at the weedage dubiously.

"Are you sure this is it?"

The man shook his head in a disapproving way.

"You can't see it from here. You have to enter, young master. The defence magic begins, a couple of steps further on. I can't go there, because the moment I reach it I forget why I'm here at all. But if you are the one you claim to be, you'll have no such trouble. The manor recognises those it has to let in."

Seren nodded but still wasn't completely convinced.

"All right. I'll try it. But do not close the gate until I'm sure I can enter."

"O'course," the old man nodded and leaned against the ragged pillar of the gate. "I'll wait."

Seren pushed through the narrow gap in the gateway and took his first hesitant step into the thicket of weeds.

Nothing.

Another one.

Still nothing. Seren lifted his hands to push aside a small wall of Queen Anne's Lace. The white flowers bobbed in his face and he wrinkled his nose at the musty smell.

The third step was more cautious than hesitant because the weeds were really high there – but then, to his immense surprise, the weeds disappeared and a way came into view. The path disappeared into a wood a bit further on, but among the woods Seren fancied he could see the outline of a house…

He turned around and saw the man closing the gate, which groaned in protest. Seren waved to him, but the Squib was busy refastening the padlock. When he was done, he lifted his head and looked after Seren. But by now, Seren went on his way without looking back.

Though, if he had waited a bit longer, he would have seen the small, malevolent smile appearing on the old, lined face.

* * *

After Seren had a better look around, he could guess that the park of the manor had probably been abandoned for ages by how neglected and unkempt it was. The weeds weren't as high as outside, but the thin pathways were disappearing under their aggressive attack, and the flower-beds (if they had ever existed) had long since been flooded by them. It was surely magic they hadn't done more harm than that.

And still, Seren liked it: it was his. His ancestors': a bit of his past and hopefully of his future. He didn't have a place to go home to anyway; Barrys surely wanted to live his own life; he would never move back to his father's, and the following year would be his last year from September…

He began to daydream. After he finished Hogwarts (but not as Seren Potter, of course – under under his real name, Seren Snape!), he would move here. He would renovate the house and rebuild the park and he wouldn't have to rely on his father and his money any longer. Who knew- perhaps he even had some inherited money as well, and he would be able to lay the foundations of a future, independent life?. And he would work, of course. He didn't quite know what he wanted to do, but it would work out in time. He had a whole year to decide.

When his eyes caught sight of the building, however, his confident plans dimmed somewhat. If the park was unkempt, the house could be called dilapidated, and it wasn't manor-like at all. It was a simple two-storey house with crumbling plaster walls and gaping holes in the roof. The windows were shuttered, but the shutters were hanging in their frames like broken wings, and the holes behind them peered at Seren blindly and without glass.

To his right, some ruins were visible, almost completely enlaced by weeds and ivy. It was apparently an old ruin, perhaps the remains of the old manor, and this miserable house might have been an annexe for the servants…

He furrowed his brows.

Had that been his father's house? Had he grown up here? But then… he couldn't have been too rich. And they couldn't have servants either, but the old Squib had mentioned something…

It didn't matter. He shook off his confusion and decided to make a tour of the house. He had nothing to lose. On the contrary: he might learn something about his family, and that had been the main idea anyway. Deciding about the future could wait.

He drew his wand, vanished the pile of trash lying in front of the door and, stepping closer, pushed down the heavy brass handle.

The door creaked as he opened it, but the sight in the house was surprisingly different that he expected. The small entrance hall still didn't seem rich, but it was surprisingly tidy: no dust, no rubbish, no ruins, just an old coat stand that could have seen better days.

Beyond the tattered stand was a door to (as he found out when he opened it) a small corridor and some stairs leading up. Every inch of the wall was covered with magical photos that strengthened Seren's suspicion that they had been moved here from the much bigger manor house.

To his right a door was ajar, so he decided to try that first. It led to a sitting room, which wasn't empty: in spite of the hot summer a friendly fire was twinkling in the fireplace and in the nearest armchair, a tall, aristocratic man was seated, apparently waiting for him.

Although Seren had never seen him before, those many photos and his father's repeated descriptions and warnings were now paying off: Seren recognised him instantly and his wand popped into his hand almost automatically. He pointed it at the white-haired man.

"Lucius Malfoy," he cried.

The man didn't seem to be disturbed by Seren's wand; he stood up and made a polite bow.

"Yes. In person. And I think it's very nice to meet the son of one of my dearest friends."

Seren was taken aback by the words and lowered his wand a bit.

"Dearest friend?" he asked suspiciously. He couldn't just shake off those many years of warnings. And his father's lies about his parentage didn't mean that his warnings about Malfoy were all in vain – it wasn't only him who had warned him about Malfoy, anyway.

"My dearest friend Severus Snape. Wee knew each other since childhood, my boy.Though it might seem that we worked for different sides, the purpose that led both of us was the same. This purpose was the reason our friendship prevailed until Severus's death.

"Severus Snape and you _fought _for different sides in the war."

"That was the appearance."

"Appearance? I was told that Severus Snape fought for Dumbledore and you fought for Voldemort," Seren replied.

Malfoy sighed and sat back.

"I see you take Potter's words for granted." It was so strange to hear the name 'Potter' not in relation with him. "Although you've already experienced that not everything he has told you is true." He lifted his index finger. "He lied to you in this matter too, though I suspect it wasn't a deliberate lie. He just didn't know all the facts. I didn't support the Dark Lord yet it seemed so nonetheless, and, similarly, your father didn't support Dumbledore. I gave information to your father about the Dark Lord in the second war when your father couldn't go on to work as a spy. The Dark Lord knew that your father had betrayed him, because he saved Potter once right in front of him…

"He saved Potter?" asked Seren surprised. "But they didn't like each other!"

"Severus, as a professor of Hogwarts, was responsible for the students' welfare. And he owed it to Potter's father. It's evident why he'd done it. But it doesn't matter. Which matters is that I'd never been in touch with Dumbledore and his faithful Order. Severus, on the other hand, had been since the first war. And we figured that we could cooperate. It worked quite well and Dumbledore had known about it, but Potter's stupidity killed the old man and nobody remained who knew about my role in the events except for Severus, but he barely managed to avoid imprisonment himself…

Seren hesitated. He knew quite a lot about the wars, but this was never more than what his peers knew; a couple of tales and facts from the books and his father's friends. And now, he was unable to judge the truth of Malfoy's words. When he tried to check the man's thoughts with a slight push of Legilimency, it seemed to support Malfoy's words.

But there was another topic: the vengeance that Malfoy had sworn against his father. How would it affect their relationship?

"What about Draco Malfoy?" he asked very carefully not to let his uncertainty show in his voice. "How can I know it's not a trap against my fa… Harry Potter?"

Malfoy seemed not to realise his slip of tongue. He answered patiently.

"Why should I take vengeance on my friend's son? Potter has a real son if I wanted revenge. But I don't want it. That's all in the past. No revenge will bring Draco back." – His eyes clouded for a moment, but he managed to take a grip on his feelings. – "I didn't come back for revenge. Not at all. I came here because I've heard about you. Acquaintances told me that your adoption papers had been found in the ministry, and I felt obliged to come and show you who you are… if it's still possible after so many years of brainwashing…"

Now, Seren's uncertainty reached its peak. Malfoy didn't make any moves towards his own wand, while Seren had been standing with his wand pointed at him for five or more minutes. He lowered his wand a bit and stepped closer to the empty armchair, but refused to sit down.

"How did you know I'm Snape's son? Was it written on that ministry document as well?"

"Of course," Malfoy answered, surprised. "Why, didn't you see it?"

Seren blushed as he thought of that conversation with Lenny. But he swallowed his shame.

"No, I didn't. A schoolmate of mine told me; he knew it from his father. But he didn't tell me any names. I guess he didn't know any real facts either." Knowing Lenny, Seren was sure he would have used every bit of information if he had known them.

"I see." Malfoy nodded. "Well, the document contained your father's name, or to be precise your family name, Snape, because due to the conditions under which you were found, your parentage couldn't be stated for sure. Or so the Potters told the ministry officers…

Seren nodded. Malfoy went on.

"But that wasn't the real, whole reason I came here. I would have thought you would have received a proper education from Potter, including your real identity and your inheritance…"

The word 'inheritance' made Seren snicker and when Malfoy looked at him questioningly, he made a gesture around.

"I don't think I wasn't robbed of too much…"

Malfoy shrugged.

"I came here, because I thought this would be your first place you find once you learned the 'Snape' name. I asked Pinchas, the old Squib to lead you here too."

At the mention of the old man, Seren felt uncomfortable. Barrys had warned him. He had warned him that it could be a trick to make him come here…

"But your father hated this place as he hated his father. He never lived here after graduating from Hogwarts. He has – or perhaps just _had _– his own flat in Hogsmeade and a considerable amount on his bank account. They are your rightful inheritance. Potter never mentioned them, I guess."

"Flat? Money? No, he didn't," Seren answered and his anger began to swell again in his chest. "He never even admitted that Snape was my father. He told me he didn't know who my parents were."

Malfoy made a satisfied nod.

"He lied then. The document that finalizes the adoption contains the name 'Snape'."

"So you've told me," said Seren impatiently.

"Yes, I know. I just wanted you to see how you were lied to, and in which matters. But, as I told you, there is a more important reason of my being here. What do you know about adoption?"

Seren shook his head.

"Not much. The child is taken in and raised as their own. The child becomes legally his…"

"Well, not much, really," sighed Malfoy. "And in your case is even less. Magical adoption has two forms and what you've just told me concerns only one of them, the general form. In this kind of adoption the adopted will remain the heir of his biological parents or, more importantly, of their magical powers; a part of their magical potency will pass to their child. The other form, the _final _adoption means a stronger kind of relationship between the adopted and the adoptive parents. The child will become theirs in every sense, even magically. It also means that the child will not inherit either the money or the magical potency of his biological family.

"And I…" Seren began but didn't complete the sentence. He had a good guess anyway.

"The Potters chose the final form in your case."

"That means I can… I can never be the one I am? I can never be a Snape, a rightful heir of my ancestors?"

Malfoy nodded with a serious expression on his face.

"Yes, it means that."

"But that's terrible!" he cried out indignantly. "How could they do this to me?" He turned to Malfoy. "Isn't there any way out of this situation? Isn't there any chance to receive my inheritance? To be what I want to be?"

"There might be," the man nodded again. "And this is why I'm here. I wouldn't have come if your situation was unchangeable, I could do nothing then. But now, we have a possible way out."

"What's that?"

"Final adoption needs relation between the parties. And not any relation, but a close blood relation: second or third degree. So you can adopt in this way the child of your sibling or of your cousin, no one else. Well, sometimes it works in the case of the grandchild of your cousin, but that's not important here and now. Another thing is important: that there is no relation between you and the Potters."

Seren shook his head in doubt.

"The whole magical world is interrelated. It's not entirely impossible that the Potters are somehow related to the Snapes…"

"No. The Snapes are an old, pureblooded family while the Potters are wizards only for three or four generation, and otherwise they are all mudbloods…

The word hurt his ears, but he didn't react.

"Still, they can be related in another, er… _less official _way…"

"No," Malfoy said with complete confidence. "Pure-blooded families were always very careful against cuckoos. The Potters are not related to Snapes. Potter's mother was a muggle-born, his wife too. That could mean only one thing: Potter used dark magic to use final adoption on you."

"Why would he?" Seren asked. It held no sense. Why would his adoptive father do such an illegal piece of magic in such an unimportant case? It seemed more than improbable.

"Here comes the relationship between Potter and your father, Seren," said Malfoy patronizingly. "Potter always hated Slytherins, but he hated your father even more and he always suspected him to work for the dark side. And yet, your father saved his life repeatedly. You know, the human mind can work in funny ways. The more Potter owed to your father the more he hated him. And when the moment arrived to take revenge on him, Potter didn't hesitate: he stole you, his only heir, thus erasing his name from the face of earth. The perfect revenge on a pure-blooded family: he not only stole its last heir, but he strengthened his own lineage with your adoption! A real revenge, worthy of a Slytherin mind! It's not a surprise though, Potter was always a Slytherin in heart, he could just cover his real self better amongst those Gryffindor idiots. I tell you, Potter is sharp and cunning. And woe to you if you become a target of his hatred: he will destroy you like no dark wizard could."

Seren felt paralysed by the arguments. He collapsed in the chair and lowered his wand towards the ground.

"But…" He was speechless. What Malfoy said fit everything he had learned about the relationship between Snape and his father. But imagining that Harry Potter was so evil, so immoral was another case. "I can't believe it…"

"And you don't have to!" another voice joined the conversation and both Seren and Malfoy turned their heads towards it. Barrys was standing in the doorframe, his drawn wand pointed directly to Malfoy.

"Who are you meant to be?" Malfoy asked disdainfully."The manservant?"

"The biological son of Harry Potter and so the clearest evidence against everything you have been blabbering in the past half an hour." With a flick of his wand he hog-tied Malfoy. The aristocrat attempted to dodge it but with no avail. Lucius hadn't even stood up from his chair when the grey light caught him and fell on the ground, immobilized. "And you, Seren, should have had a bit more sense to listen to a wanted criminal. Dad told you million times that…"

"You are mad!" Seren jumped out of the chair and freed Malfoy with a _Finite Incantatem_. Barely out of the ropes, Malfoy sent a quick hex towards Barrys, but the long hours of practising had paid off and Barrys avoided it easily. But the duel didn't last long. Seren felt a wand pressing to his temple and a confident voice said:

"Potter, if you want your oh-so-beloved brother remain alive, you'd better surrender."

Rodolphus Lestrange finally arrived. And after him none other than Bellatrix entered the room.

And finally, with a chill that settled between his shoulder blades, Seren realised that it was a trap. And as Barrys lowered his wand, that chance of a way out disappeared as well.

What should he do now?

* * *

Next: by the weekend? (I hope so at least) 


	7. Chapter 7 Harry

**Beta: Elsa2 **(go and see her beautiful stories!) - Thank you very much!

Chapter 7 – Harry

First, he went to check at Fred's though he was pretty sure Barrys had convinced his brother to move in with him – why else would Barrys have decided to live an independent life right now? And Harry was very grateful for his older son's decision. Barrys was sometimes a bit hasty and impulsive, but this time Harry didn't care. Seren needed them like they needed him, and with Barrys's action he could remain in the family, and not all the ties had been cut.

Fred confirmed his suspicions, but even he didn't know where they had gone, because Seren had left the house sometime in the afternoon when he had been at work.

"But, Harry, I still agree with Hermione. You are making your biggest mistake by keeping the truth from him."

Harry clenched his hands in helpless rage.

"I told you my reasons, didn't I? And Hermione knows it, too. I made a promise and I'm not going to break it."

"But not even Dumbledore was infallible, Harry…"

"It's not about infallibility. I agreed with him even before he made me swear, and I still agree. But I promise, I will tell him part of the story as soon as I find him – the part he has to know."

"What part?" countered Fred in a sarcastic voice. "His identity? His family? His heritage?"

"Fred!" Harry interrupted angered. "I will tell him what he needs to know about himself and me. And about our families."

"That part you should have told him long ago."

"I didn't want to tell him anything, Fred. I wanted him to live as my son, to be a normal kid growing up in a supportive family, and I did believe I could give him that much! And I didn't do it for the memory of Dumbledore or Snape, but because I loved him like I loved Barrys, and I didn't want him to get involved in things that destroy, defile and break him!"

"But Harry, Seren is…"

"Seren is my son. He was only a couple of days old when we took him in! I brought him up! He's not a Snape any more! Why can't you see that?"

"But it's not true!"

"Even Hermione agrees with me about that!"

"Because she's biased, too!"

"You're blind!"

"I'm not, but you are! You love that boy too much to see this matter objectively!"

"What do you think objectivity would be in such a case? That I brought up a Death Eater in my home?"

"No, no, I…"

"What, then? You are saying that Seren is Severus Snape himself, the git who was unable to behave like a human for even a minute! Who was unable to go and make an appearance at his mentor's funeral? That conceited, arrogant son of a bitch?"

Fred stepped back in surprise.

"But… do you still hate Snape?"

Harry shrugged, and the anger suddenly left him.

"Why wouldn't I? Just because he doesn't exist any more?"

"But Seren…"

"Seren-is-not-a-Snape. Seren is Seren. He is not like Snape. He is a kind-hearted, caring child."

"But this means that…"

"Leave it, Fred. This quarrel is pointless and I have to go. I have to find them. If my new information is correct Rodolphus Lestrange is in the country, and this means Bellatrix and Malfoy too. And you know Malfoy…"

"I go with you," said Fred suddenly, but Harry shook his head.

"No. I'll go by myself. I want to talk to him or them alone. It will be hard enough as it is."

"I see," Fred replied, a bit put-off.

The next moment, Harry disapparated with a soft 'pop'.

* * *

He finished with Barrys's friends sooner than he thought, but to no avail. Nobody had even suspected that Barrys had wanted to move out, let alone heard about his new address. So after two hours of fruitless search Harry decided to have a drink in the Leaky Cauldron and try and come up with some other plan.

The wisest thing to do would be asking Barrys's latest girlfriend, but he had no idea who the actual witch was, and she would probably lead him nowhere: his girlfriends always knew less about Barrys than his friends.

Hermione was often a bit angry with Barrys because of his constant string of flirts and trifles, and she wished him to be a bit more conservative in this matter, more like herself and Harry. She tried to persuade Barrys, but it inevitably ended up nowhere: Barrys with his usual cheekiness and sneakiness changed the topic so subtly that no one noticed, and he never listened to her. Harry was very careful not to enter these arguments, but in his heart he supported Hermione. He didn't understand Barrys's behaviour and his thirst for fame: Barrys was a constant theme of the Witch Weekly's front page, and even the Prophet had a soft spot for him.

Barrys and he had at least one common feature: they had both given up quidditch after school and didn't enter the professional league. Barrys proved as talented as Harry. Barrys played beater just like Fred and George, Barrys's paragons of some sort, who encouraged him in his public appearances. But still Barrys declined all the professional offers and threw the letters into the fire, unread. Harry had asked him about his decision not to go professional several times, but Barrys never disclosed his reasons.

His work was in a way quidditch-related: he had been always outstanding in Charms (Flitwick always related it to his grandmother's, Lily Potter), and after school he had gone to work in a new but rapidly-expanding broomstick company, "The Reflection", where he charmed race brooms. The small company – thanks to Barrys's work – was flourishing, and his first models soon outshone the Nimbus series, although the Firebolts were still at the top of the market.

In the Leaky Cauldron, he ordered a butterbeer, and leaning against the bar counter, he vainly attempted to arrange a plot.

Finishing his work, Tom, the barman, sat down opposite and started a conversation, his eyes never leaving his customers.

"How are you doing, Mr Potter?"

Harry rolled his eyes, but answered politely.

"Fine, thanks, and you?"

"Marvellous, marvellous," smiled Tom enthusiastically, as if Harry had genuine interest in his well-being. "I'm happy that you finally decided to pay a visit here, at an old friend's… Your son is a frequent customer, I see him here almost every day. And those nice girls in his company! They really are the most splendid witches in Britain!"

Oh, no, not _this _topic…! Harry didn't want to hear about it, but Tom ignoring or missing his uneasiness went on chattily,

"He always has really nice ladies in his company, that's true, but this latest one…" he laughed, and Harry had to resist the sudden urge to throw the bottle at him. "Black hair, pale skin, lovely features, and much more animated than the previous ones… and the young sir too seems to be more attached to her than any of the others…"

Harry suddenly paid attention to the barkeeper's murmur. Who could the girl be?

Tom, as though reading his mind, went on.

"I can't fathom where they met. I've never seen the lady before and I know almost everybody in our world, and I wouldn't miss such a splendid witch, I tell you…"

This was the point when Harry's alarms, which had been set since his meeting with Seremov, began to ring full volume. 'Never' was the keyword. Harry knew that in this matter Tom's observations were at least as reliable as Aberforth's, if not more so. He slipped his hand into his pocket and grabbed his wand. In the next moment he could see his son and the women through Tom's memories: they were sitting at the table opposite the counter.

Harry had seen his son with some of his girlfriends and knew quite well the way he behaved around them – this was his main reason to dislike Barrys's relationships rather than Hermione's hatred for the _fact _that Barrys was a lady-killer. For Barrys, girls were like a kind of decoration or like those lapdogs old ladies kept for entertainment. Although it wasn't impossible that those old ladies considered their lapdogs more as people than Barrys did with his partners. He scarcely spoke to them, only short words and sentences, asking for their wishes, buying everything they asked and smiling at them if needed.

This was, however, different. Barrys and the girl weren't with the usual company; it was just the two of them, and they were talking. Barrys seemed unable to take his eyes off the beautiful girl, but Harry saw he wasn't focusing on her beauty but on _her_, his brows knitted like Hermione's and small nods showing his deep attention. Sometimes he added something, but mostly he just listened. That went on for a time: Harry couldn't really estimate how long because one or two seconds of thought could contain hours of memories, even if not as precisely as a pensieve. In the centre of Tom's memories was the girl, so Harry couldn't really see anything else in the memory.

Perhaps he would need a pensieve later to revisit this memory to… or not. The girl was completely unknown to him, but he couldn't find any faults in her, she seemed beautiful and intelligent and behaved in a very polite, civilized way – and so did Barrys, to Harry's joy. If Hermione could see this…

But then, the girl laughed: she leaned her head a bit back, almost touching the booth's wall. Her hair which had been concealing her features now fell down her back. The memory was like a slow film so Harry had some moments to examine her more thoroughly. Still nothing, but suddenly, she laughed again and shook her hair back and Harry's heart almost stopped. The girl was unfamiliar, but the laughter and the gesture…

After Sirius's death, sometimes he borrowed Dumbledore's pensieve and replayed a couple of their times together. He could do that for hours: watching his godfather laughing, talking, joking – and it had been Hermione who had warned him of the danger of this behaviour. _"Harry, living in memories is just as dangerous as living in dreams. It can't bring Sirius back; you just make harder to grieve for him and leave the past where it belongs."_

Still, there were memories he had watched repeatedly, mostly those where Sirius had been laughing or joking, and they all came to mind as he watched the girl: the gesture, the black locks, the shape of the lips which now curled precisely the way Sirius' had done…

But Sirius had never had a child… and even if he had, he or she would have been older than this girl. She was the same age as Barrys, but, now, she didn't only remind him of Sirius; those features – a bit crumpled, a cruel smile…

It was maddening.

The girl reminded him of Sirius's mother in Grimmauld Place – no, not only reminded, she was just like her, the old witch with that terrible, screeching voice… they must be relatives, and close ones at that.

She couldn't be Sirius's or Regulus's offspring, and not that of Andomeda, Tonks or Narcissa, Lucius's deceased wife.

Only one other person remained.

Harry yanked himself out of Tom's memories. But when he opened his eyes and saw the pub around him, he was surprised. He needed some time to readjust the fact that the scene of the memory and real life was the same.

But he still didn't know what to do.

Panic gripped his throat.

The girl couldn't be other than a daughter of Bellatrix and Rodolphus, who, for obvious reasons, grew up abroad and returned only lately like her parents – or with them. And Barrys had decided to go out with _her_!

TRAP! – his instincts cried with full force.

He had to reach Barrys, now!

In spite of his panic, his experience kicked in. Almost unconsciously, his mind began to systematize the past hours' information. It was imperative to localize the headquarters of the regrouping Death Eaters it might be the only way to find the boys. And Seremov had showed them enough details: Bellatrix and Rodolphus had returned, most probably with Lucius. Their headquarters was an old pureblood family manor, and there were special family spells around it, Harry recalled.

He mentally went through the old families, their Death Eater relations, ruined or still existing homes, but he couldn't remember a fitting manor: the majority of them had been destroyed, the protections broken, now even the muggles could easily find them. The remainders, like the Nott or the Lestrange homes, were inhabited, but as the relatives of convicted men they had been heavily monitored, and no blood protections were allowed.

So, only one remained: the Snape manor.

No, it couldn't be anything else. Malfoy and his lot had to be there.

Harry laughed. Tom and the other customers cast a curious glance in his direction. It wasn't surprising: his laughter wasn't the usual joyful one, more the growl of the predator that had found the track of his pray.

It didn't matter he'd never been there and didn't have a clue about its whereabouts.

It didn't matter that not even the Ministry knew its whereabouts.

It didn't matter that Snape hadn't revealed its whereabouts to Dumbledore either.

He didn't have to do anything complicated; he had to _remember _only. He had been there, hadn't he? And now, he would again, but this time it would be his real self that went and surprised that disgusting lot skulking there.

And after that, he would find his sons and talk to them.

His heart clenched at the thought, and he prayed he would find them safe and sound.

His grip let go of the butterbeer bottle, and he closed his eyes.

The next moment, Tom and the usual Friday night clients could only see his empty seat as he Disapparated.

* * *

He had more memories about Snape manor than he'd suspected. He knew more than the place and the way: he remembered the family's squib servant living close to it. He decided to pay a visit to him first.

When the old man opened the door and instantly paled, Harry knew he was on the right track.

"When did Malfoy arrive?" he asked as he closed the door behind him, and – albeit quite pointlessly – pointed his wand at the squib.

The frightened eyes looked at him, searching for a way to fool the famous Harry Potter.

"I… I dunno…" he stuttered, but in his memories Harry could see Malfoy in a raincoat with an umbrella in his hand. That had been when these two met after so many years.

"End of winter? Spring?"

"February," the old squib blurted out in fear.

"And the others? A middle-aged couple with a daughter about twenty?"

"I don't know about the girl, sir. But the couple arrived sooner than Mr Malfoy."

"When?"

"Sometimes in November…"

That was too long ago. They had had a lot of time to make not only one, but several traps.

"Who else?" he demanded and at the same time he noticed that the man's nervousness decreased. It arose Harry's suspicions again: it was more than a simple illegal organisation.

"A couple of other men and women…"

Out of his memories, Harry could recognise two wanted Death Eaters and an old schoolmate, a Ravenclaw, one or two years ahead. He was someone who had never been suspected being one of Voldemort's followers.

But the memory and the previous nervousness were not related. something else had to be there… But he didn't know what to ask and in vain pushed harder into the squib's memories: the old man, on his squib level, was a well-trained occlumens. He was careful to keep his thoughts on the previous tracks. That was water under the bridge anyway.

"Who is in the house now?" Harry went on, and the previous pictures dimmed a bit.

Yes, that's the right way.

"Only family members," said the man evading a direct answer, but Harry couldn't be fooled.

"Who are these… _family members_?"

"Mr Malfoy, the couple, some other acquaintances and" he smiled an ugly, toothless smile "The Snape heir."

"Snape heir? But the Snapes died out!"

"Oh, but the young man is undoubtedly a Snape. The protecting charms recognised him!"

Harry didn't ask more: the memories told him everything. He erased the man's memory. Outside of the house, he stopped for a brief contemplation of what could be going on beyond those gates.

Seren – and most probably Barrys – were here in Snape Manor. It must have been Barrys's girlfriend who lured them here, where the old squib finished the work. He made Seren follow him to the manor, right into Malfoy's hands. Together with Barrys, he was sure about that: no blood protection spells around the house could keep Barrys _Potter _out – could keep him, Harry _Potter _out. And the pure-blooded ancestors could roll in their graves.

He flicked through his memories about the house with a hint of worry. He couldn't be late – could he?

He Apparated right to the gate and with a flick of his wand, opened it.

He was on his way to the house when a terrible cold bit into his soul. What could have happened with the boys? What was Malfoy planning? Were they still alive? It seemed likely, but he couldn't be entirely sure.

The worry gave place to a horrible fear: he'd never been this afraid in his life. He was terrified for his sons.

This anxiousness must have been the reason his reflexes slowed and he realised too late that more and more painful memories were swirling into his fears.

Memories – and not only _his_.

In a dull stupor he grabbed his wand, but the attacking images halted his hands, his moves. He was unable to fight them, unable to utter the words for a patronus…

_He was in a dark, closed rooms: both his back and his stomach were on fire. And a sudden light: a door opened, and a big, fat man dragged him out, and punched his face hard._

"_I should bloody well hope you'll behave next time! Now, get back to your place!"_

And the next:

_Somebody was holding the back of his neck, and pushing his face to the ground, while a dirty pair of shoes was tossed to him, and he knew they wanted him to lick the dirt off, or they would beat him, he had no chance…_

Again and again came: the memories, the ones he'd kept locked away for so long, flooding his mind as if they had been waiting for precisely this moment to attack him, to destroy everything he'd built to protect himself against them. Everything – not only his memories, but his thoughts, his feelings, his very self… And they attacked as fiercely as they'd done _that night_, and he couldn't stop them, and the faceless demons were closing over him to suck his life from his collapsed body. He knew they were there but he couldn't see them, because the other's memories blinded him.

Harry felt the cold breaths around him as the dementors drew even closer.

Once more, he thought about the spell, the patronus, but by now, he was completely helpless, and he didn't have his father to send a patronus from across the lake, the patronus, the wonderful Prongs to deliver his soul from the evil, but perhaps it was meant to be this way…

Perhaps it was meant to be this way…

* * *

Next: as soon as I translate it. It will be probably non-betaed, because Elsa is away from civilization now. ;-)

Very, very sorry for the long delay. I don't make promises now. Still 6 chapters to go... I'll see...

Enahma


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